Who killed Tabaqui
by Marlowe97
Summary: Do not mess with Mowgli's brother. You can be pretty sure his teeth are sharp.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Who killed Tabaqui  
**Author:****marlowe78**  
**Rating:** PG 13  
**Characters:** Dean, Sam  
**Word count:** a lot

**Spoilers:** for s6, the basics  
**Warnings:** Language, some blood is spilled.

**Summary:** _Do not mess with Mowgli's brother. You can be pretty sure his teeth are sharp_

a/n: yep, this, too, started as a fill of the hoodie_time h/c meme. The prompt was _Dean gets bitten by a werewolf (an actual wolf, not SPN's version). He wants to/tries to off himself so Sam won't have to, but Sam finds out and won't let him. Super bonus points if Dean turns and remains sane, and thinks Sam is his alpha. Gen, por favor._ It was prompted by an anonymous reader, and I hope she likes it.

I know enough about dogs and wolves and their behavior to know instantly why Dean-as-a-wolf would not kill his brother.

* * *

It turned out that it had been the other type of werewolves, the furry one, not like the one Sam had had the hots for.

Sure, that was mean, but it was kinda not important anymore to be nice, right? Because killing yourself with a silver bullet would certainly erase the guilty feeling Dean had after thinking this kind of thoughts about Madison.

He'd liked her. She'd been like Sam.

So, anyway.

It'd been a hunt that had gone sideways faster than a flag in the wind, one second Sam was motioning Dean to go left, the next second Dean had been on his back, a huge furry face with yellowish eyes in front of him, claws ripping at his chest, trying to get him to let go of its throat so it could in turn rip out Dean's.

He hadn't let it, even though it had clamped its fangs in his upper arm when he'd lost some of the strength due to the pure weight of that freaking thing. Damn, those fuckers were _huge_.

In hindsight, he should've let the thing kill him then; it would've been much easier than this now.

But he didn't, and Sam had patched him up and doused him in holy water and had raised another Hell on earth to find a freaking cure for this.

Because there had to be, in Sam's mind. There just had to be. Life couldn't throw him so much shit, not after all the shit they'd already waded through those last six years. Shows how much of a good guy Sam was. Still believing in something like a balance in life.

Dean knew that was bullshit. Life sucked, and if you're lucky, there were some less sucky episodes before you died. But that didn't change the overall suckyness.

So now here he was. At the end – maybe even the real, final end this time – of his road, sitting in a motel and loading his favorite gun with one silver bullet. He'd take it outside, behind the motel in the little piece of forest, put his gun against his heart and pull the trigger.

Maybe that wasn't a good way to die, but he wouldn't let Sam do it, not again, not once more would he let him witness his brother die and not once more letting him kill a loved one this way. He wouldn't. He knew it wasn't much better, Sam finding his body when he woke up from the sleeping-pills and read the note Dean'd leave on the bed. More than a note, a letter. Dean knew it would be hard for Sam, because fuck, they'd gone through this shit so often. He'd begged Sam in the letter to remember that life could be good, too. That he'd at least try to find a way to live without his brother, find a way to live.

But that was all he could do. Dean'd waited, waited through all the weeks till the next full moon. Wanted to give Sammy all the time possible before ending his life, and he'd wait until exactly six minutes before midnight. But he wouldn't let Sam take him down. He wouldn't turn, murder somebody, only for Sam to hunt him. He wouldn't do that to his brother.

And maybe that's selfish, but Dean'd never said that he wasn't.

Once more he turned towards his sleeping Sasquatch-brother, taking in his features. Not because he was freaky, or something, but because he never really did look at Sam. Because he knew him so well. It's like looking at a huge tree – you stand close and all you see is the bark, but take a few steps back…

Sam looked horrible. Dean probably did too, but he wasn't in the mood to look in the mirror. There were bags under Sam's eyes, and his skin was pale and looked unhealthy. His hair was disgustingly greasy and hung over his pillow, like sticky little worms. Sam needed a haircut nearly every day of his life, but now he also needed some fresh water and soap.

Dean knew his brother was looking like that because he'd used every inch of his patience to find a cure, failing every day. He was a wreck.

It would hurt to leave him.

But there wasn't anything Dean could do. Except that one thing.

Dean stood and went to the door, refusing to look back, not even a little. It wouldn't do any good, and he needed all the resolve he could get. Assuming the rumors were true, suicides went to Hell. Dean refused to think about that. There were 'friends' down there that he didn't really want to meet again. And if by some bizarre miracle he didn't go to Hell, his luck would turn out to send him to Purgatory, where he'd probably meet other stuff that remembered him. Heaven – if there ever really was a place like that – would be barred for him as well, wouldn't it? Even if not, that wasn't something he was looking forward to. He didn't really know the score in the big Angel-War, but him being up there would certainly be anything but restful.

Ah, no use in thinking about that one. Because Dean knew he'd earned his ticked to Hell this time. Not because he was a werewolf, no. But what he'd done, all his life and even worse, after his life, wouldn't offer any choices as to where he was heading.

He hadn't equaled the score yet, and even though he'd known that for what he'd done off the rack he could never save enough people, he'd been hoping to at least balance out the bad stuff he'd done while alive.

No use in thinking too much about it. Death had said that the next time he died, it would be final, and if Dean wasn't so sure he'd be heading back to _there_, it'd actually be appealing.

Stopping. Finally. No more running. From death and life and consequences, no more pain, no more worries about Sam. Getting to rest. Forever.

But that wouldn't happen. One way or another, he wouldn't be allowed to rest, and Dean knew that. Either some angel would interfere and make him his bitch or – much more likely – a demon would make him his bitch until he'd be able to turn the table and take some measure of control. Become what he'd been meant to become from the day his father offered his soul for Dean's life.

Dean shuddered but braced himself, squared his shoulders. His dad had been in Hell for hundred years, Sam's soul had been in the cage with Lucifer and Michael for even longer. And even if Sam was barely holding it together these days, their father had escaped - _escaped!_ Hell while Dean had needed to be rescued. After only thirty fucking years he'd given in, not even making it to fifty. And he'd picked up that knife with so much relish and he'd begun ripping and cutting and tearing to make someone pay for his pain, anyone, no matter who. Or what.

He was weak, he knew that. He wasn't half the man his dad had been, and not even a quarter of the man his brother was. Dean was a whining, sniveling little piece of shit with a gun, and he hadn't deserved to live when his dad had died, not then but certainly not now.

So yeah, he knew where he was heading. And he wasn't sure if it was better or worse to have an idea of what it would be like, but he swore to himself to be better this time, to man up. Dean would go back to Hell, but he'd go there with his head held high, he'd not give in. If it meant eternity on the rack than he'd take it. It was what he deserved, after all. It'd been his fault that Sam broke the last seal, and he'd take the punishment for that.

Not gladly. But… well.

Before he could lose his nerve again, he started walking.

With his gun tugged in the waistband, he went over into the small cluster of trees. It wasn't much of a hiding-place, but it concealed him from most people and from the street. He didn't want watchers.

There was a sturdy tree right in the middle, a pine of some sort, with rough bark and a thick trunk. Dean leaned his back against it, took a deep breath. Still some minutes to go. He'd set the alarm in his cell so he wouldn't miss it, wouldn't accidentally turn before he could kill himself.

He'd press the gun to his chest, right over his heart, and he'd lean against the tree because he wouldn't want to hurt someone else if the bullet passed through him. And it would, because the barrel would be right _there_, right against his heart.

Dean looked at his cell. One minute. One minute of life. Some last thoughts? Not really. He hoped that Sam wouldn't shatter like he did the last time Dean died, but there was no other way. Sam tried everything, and now, once again, the time'd run out on the Winchesters.

Thirty seconds before the alarm would sound, Dean gripped the pistol and steadied his hand. No, of course he didn't want to die. He'd kinda gotten used to living once more, even his constant churning nightmares of Hell had ebbed up a lot since he started helping Sam with his Cage-memories. He'd even gotten very close to calling Lisa again.

Didn't matter. No choice.

Twenty-five seconds before the end of Dean Winchester, he heard a curse from somewhere behind him. Heard somebody large stumble through the trees, panting, and he knew it was Sam.

Of course it would be. Sam would wake, right at the wrong time, because that's what usually happened in their effed-up lives, and he wouldn't even pick up the letter. Sam would know what's going on, so he wouldn't waste a fucking nano-second with reading some letter. He'd run right out, he'd find the tree and -"You fucking asshole!" there he was. Sam grabbed Dean's arm, yanked the gun out of his fingers which was ridiculously easy to manage, and pressed his brother against the rough tree.

"Sammy…"

"No! No, you … you don't get to do this. You don't. I won't let you, I won't let you. No!"

"Sam… Sam, if there was a way…"

"We'll find it! Maybe… maybe there is a cure like for the vampirism. I'll watch you, I swear I will. I'll tie you up so you won't hurt anyone, and…"

"And if it doesn't work?" There was the shrill beep of his alarm, but it was lost to them.

"It will. I'll make sure!"

"Sammy. The risk's too high. Please, Sam. C'm on. Gimme the gun, Sam."

Like a little boy with a hissy-fit, Sam held the gun up and away from them, still keeping Dean pinned. The anguish in his face made Dean's heart ache, the reminder of that man being a little stubborn child made him want to cry. A deep, sharp ache spread from Dean's core, tingling in his fingers and itching on his skin.

That wasn't just …

"Sam…"

"No, listen. There'll be something. I just have to look harder, longer. There will be a cure, there must be. I'll find it, and I'll keep you safe, I swear, I will!"

"Sam, I think…"

"Dean, look, I know it's selfish, but I… I… I" he took a deep, shuddering breath "I can't. I just… I can't…"

Dean tried to listen, to pay attention, but he sure as fuck didn't hear anything except the fire in his veins and the sheer pain in his joints. He groaned and sank to the ground, twisting away from Sam, trying to get it under control. Somehow, he had to stop this, had to, had to, had to, had to.

"Dean" he might've heard, like underwater, like those voice-change-thingies you see on TV, swampy and darker than Sam ever sounded. He tried to grab that voice, tried to hold onto it. A hand clamped on his shoulder and he screamed with the pain, sucking in air through his nostrils, filling his senses with leaves and grass and shrubbery and pine. And the smell that came with the voice. He held it in his head, held tight with everything he had in him, gripped it, wrapped it into the sound that was Sam, that was home, family and life.

He held on to it when his joints snapped into new positions, when his bones grew and shrank. Held it while his organs churned and burned and grew and changed, and he held it while his brain exploded with sound and smell, burning his memories and shattering his psyche, killing his core. He held on to it when everything in him burned so bright that nothing could hold him anymore, that he slipped away to escape this agony.

He wasn't aware when all was finally silent and black.

Watching your brother suffer was never easy. You might think that Sam'd gotten used to it, but it always hurt him nearly as much as Dean. Maybe more, but right now Sam wouldn't take bets on that.

It'd probably be a draw, because while it really, really must've sucked to hurt so much that Dean was writhing, moaning, groaning and growling, sometimes even screaming in agony, standing close and watch, all the while thinking that he probably would have to kill Dean soon…

Yeah, well, he felt a load of sympathy for his brother in hindsight, for living with that possibility for over a year.

Dean was turning, right in front of Sam, and even though it would be merciful to put him out of his misery, to kill him now, before he hurt somebody and before Dean was in more pain than he was now, Sam couldn't do it.

Three times already he'd lifted the gun, aiming for the heart, but every time he'd let gravity pull the weapon back down. Because what if?

What if Dean wasn't evil when he'd turned?

Dean had promised to let him try everything possible to save him, and even though Sam was still pretty pissed about the sleeping-pills, he'd kinda expected it and doped up with caffeine-pills before. When he'd woken without Dean in the room, he'd known. Sam hadn't bothered to read the letter, he'd known where Dean would go.

Living so close to each other left its marks on both of them, and even though Sam would be the first to admit that it was pretty unhealthy and more than weird, the way they were raised and the way they clung to the other, it also made them pretty predictable.

So yes, Sam'd known, he'd run and he'd reached Dean just in time, and he'd been prepared to do it, to shoot Dean because it wouldn't be fair to let him die alone. Nobody should die alone.

He'd been prepared, determined even, but his determination for _saving _ his brother out-won the promise of killing him.

Oh, he'd do it. He'd do it right here. But… not if there was even an atom of a chance that he didn't have to.

Dean was still shaking in pain, long shudders ran over his body. He still looked basically human, but already his face had started to transform, his bones shifted. The back wasn't broad anymore but, well, narrow, the shoulders had shifted so they sat flat against his ribcage. While Sam was watching, the body stretched and shifted once more heels moving upward and the femoral bones shortening so much that Dean's knees were closer to his body. His hands turned into paws, his nails grew while his fingers shortened and his thumb disappeared. Hair started to spread.

It looked so unbelievably painful that Sam was once again tempted to shoot. The noises his brother made were _nothing_ like the screams when Dean'd been ripped apart by the hellhounds – they were much worse. Sam was glad that Dean was unconscious.

One more stretch-shift-shudder, one pained moan more and the body nearly bent in half, only to stretch again, one final scream when finally the fur made its way through once-human skin all at once, and the huge, furry wolf-like thing on the ground lay still, covered with Dean's shirt and jeans in a way that was ridiculous and should look funny but wasn't, didn't.

Not moving.

Breathing slowly.

Sam raised the gun again. There wasn't much choice now, was there?

Praying for the first time in years to a god he knew existed but wasn't sure cared to take his brother's battered soul, Sam took aim and tightened his finger on the trigger. This was a werewolf, and it would attack and kill Sam in the blink of an eye. He didn't want it to be the last memory of Dean. He very much wished he hadn't witnessed the turning-process either, but that couldn't be helped. So, this was a… an animal. He'd put it down. His brother was already dead. Right?

Right?

Sam shifted, aimed again. Stepped a little to the side, to get a better angle, he told himself, and finally exhaled, knowing that at the end of this exhale, he'd pull the trigger and kill his brother.

And that was the moment the wolf opened its eyes.

_Leaves, grass, resin, green. Mouse, human piss, cat's piss, dog's piss. Night, it smelled like night. Some crickets, not right there but nearby, a cat hunting somewhere. Sharp bitumen, smoke, metal, sweat … human…_

His senses were filled to the brim, and the wolf finally opened his eyes. It was dark, he couldn't see much but there was a huge shadow right in front of him, smelling like… like fear, like sorrow. Like… _pack, family, home_ his mind provided, and instead of growling and snarling and attacking as he'd braced himself to do he relaxed.

_Family, pack. Safe_

The shadow shifted. It was human, and the wolf wondered a tiny second why a human made him feel safe, but he wasn't made for much introspection. He was hungry.

He whined a bit, stretched. He ached, but it was more like when he'd run a mile after… after…_prey, food_ his mind provided, than anything sharp and broken or injured. He was sore, but the human in front of him _pack, family_ wasn't the cause. Something was wrong with him, though. There was something … he was stuck in something.

The wolf stood and yawned and shook out his fur. He stretched his front legs and his back legs and his spine, shook his head a bit and sniffed himself. There was something _cloth, clothes, stuff_ all over him, and it didn't belong there. His tail wasn't free to move, he couldn't talk like that! Growling, he started gnawing on the stuff, glad when it turned out to be easily removed. A loud ripping sound, some more growling and tearing to get rid of the _boxer-shorts_ stuff that was constricting his tail and he could stretch himself much easier. He felt good. The _shirt_ cloth-thing on his back, though, didn't get off him so easily. He tore at it with his teeth, scratched himself and rubbed all over the ground until it finally disappeared from his body. Panting, he took stock of his surrounding again. The human _pack, family_ was still there, waiting for him.

Food. He was hungry. There must be something to eat around here, right?

_Mouse_ No, too much trouble, too little meat. _Rat_ Hmmm, better. Maybe? _Cat_ The wolf sneezed. No, definitely not cat. It was too far away anyway.

So, rat it would be. He licked his teeth and turned in the direction of the rats he'd smelled, when a sound _voice_ stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He was a wolf, and wolves don't wonder about much. Basically, they wonder about food, sex and family, not always in the same order. So he didn't wonder why he knew what those sounds _words_ meant, he just knew them.

He turned and looked at the human _pack, family_ again, trying to assess him better by angling his head this way and that. The strange smell of steel and …something _gunpowder, danger, safe_ wafted around the human _man_ and he strained his eyes on the _gun_ thing in his hand.

"Uh…" the human said. "Uh… what're ya … what's… do you… can… Dean?"

_DeanDeanDeanDeanDean_ his ears said, and _SamSamSamSamSam_ his mind answered. _Brother, pack, family, safe, home_

He sat. Maybe the Sam wanted to hunt with him?

"Dean?"

_Yes?_ he cocked his ears a tiny bit. Telling Sam he heard him. _Come hunt?_ he said with a glance over his shoulder, letting his tongue play across his lips and wagging his tail a bit in invitation.

Sam didn't move. Right. Maybe he was a bit slow? The wolf stood again and took two steps, looked back. Ah, _pack, family, brother_Sam had cocked the _steel, powder, danger, safe_ gun and was aiming in the direction the wolf was taking.

Good, he understood then. He'd hunt with Dean now, great! Happiness, simple and pure, spread in his body, warmed him and he needed to show Sam how cool it was that they were going hunting, even if it was gonna be only rats.

The wolf jumped around, playfully hopping over to the Sam, wagging and yiffing like he'd done… maybe? as a pup. He froze when the gun _danger danger danger_ rose up to aim at him, and everything in him seized into cold.

The Sam _brother, pack, family_ was aiming at him? Why? What'd he done? Why was Sam angry? He'd just woken, how could Sam be angry?

The wolf whined, flattened his ears and lowered his tail. No hunting? No play?

The gun lowered, and with the threat gone, the wolf could take in the smell of his brother. _Fearfearfearfearfear_ it screamed.

Why was Sam scared? He sniffed a bit, only a bit, but there was nothing that hadn't been there before. What could the Sam be scared of? There was only … was Sam scared of the wolf?

"Dean?"

_Yes?_ he said, ears tipped slightly back, not looking into Sam's eyes, trying to be small and unthreatening.

"Dean… can I… would you…"

_Yes?_ he said again, this time looking – peeking – a bit at his _pack, family, brother_ Sam. The large man looked at the gun, put it on the ground and went into a crouch.

He was gonna cuddle, yay!

The wolf lit up inside again, and trotted over, not being able and not wanting to resist the draw of contact.

The Sam was reaching out to him, like he didn't know the wolf. But that was silly, the Sam was _pack, family, safe, home, brother_, how could he not know the wolf? So he only licked the finger for a moment and stepped inside Sam's personal space, because that's what you did with family, right? He leaned into Sam's body, showed him that he liked this, that Sam would be safe with the wolf. When the hand tentatively touched the fur behind his ear, the wolf groaned in sheer bliss and closed his eyes, wagging a bit and then he shoved his head against the Sam's _brother family home_ chest. He'd been too strong, though, or the man was surprised, because Sam overbalanced and fell to the ground, but he was laughing, and the wolf was happy too, and he jumped on him and licked his face, which was wet and salty and he panted happily when the Sam wrapped his fingers in his coat and hugged him, whispering "DeanDeanDean" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you" in his ears. The wolf didn't understand why Sam was thanking him, but he was happy, even though he didn't really like being restrained like that. He wiggled free and he licked Sam some more, jumped away and at him again, because yes, this was fun and he was happy, but he was also hungry and maybe the Sam would go hunting with him now? Please?

"Ok, buddy, wait up. I'm coming, ok?"

_Yes_ he said again, because he'd always wait for the Sam. It's what pack does.

* * *

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi all. Thanks to Psychee for the comment, I would answer it personally but this has to do now. I hope the second chapter is to your liking. _

* * *

He called Bobby. Of course he did, right after Sam'd watched Dean stalk, jump, kill and devour seven huge, ugly, disgusting rats with disturbing speed and gusto. The morbid, black-humor-part of Sam's brain said it was due payback for all the times Dean had been scared by rats and more payback even for that one time when a sixteen-year-old Dean had been imprisoned in that cave with about hundreds of the little fuckers. The more rational, more Sam-like part of his brain said it was good that Dean seemed to be happy killing rats instead of humans.

Bobby, being the man that he was, yelled at Sam-you-stupid-idjit for about fifteen minutes for not calling him when it happened, for going through this alone, for not asking for backup and told him some other, less helpful things. Until Sam spoke, not too loud, just loud enough to be heard. "So you'd have let him turn and wait? Or would you've put a bullet in him?" Silence from the other end. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Sam scratched his head and sighed. "It doesn't matter. Because right now? I've got a huge wolf on my bed that just killed seven rats with more speed than you'd think possible, and the only really evil thing he's doing is licking his balls." Bobby laughed and said that not only leopards can't change their spots, apparently. Sam smiled a bit. "Did I mention he's doing it on _my_ bed?"

This time when Bobby laughed, Sam laughed right with him. The huge wolf that was his brother stopped licking and grinned, like only a wolf could do, tongue lolling and eyes sparkling.

Without thought, Sam reached over and scratched the animal behind his ear, marveling in the trust the big furball displayed by just dropping to the side and exposing his belly and throat. The coat was warm but rough, not at all nice to the touch. Only on some places was it softer, like behind the ears. Dean groaned in happiness and demanded more scratching with his paw when Sam stopped for a moment.

"So, how's it possible? How… how is he still … well, kinda my brother?"

Bobby told him he didn't have a clue, but he'd get right on it and Sam'd better get his and Dean's asses over to him so they could figure it out. And while they were there, Dean could take care of the rat-infestation in the yard.

Sam chuckled again and hung up. He continued to scratch the wolf until he finally found that magic spot that all canines seemed to have, the one that made the hind-legs twitch automatically. It was fun, and it felt good, and the wolf was warm and furry and alive, and really, if that was how it would be from now on, Sam could live with it. He'd just have to make sure his new friend wouldn't tear humans apart.

"Stay here, ok? I'll go get something to eat for ya, but you gotta stay here, ok?" he told the wolf – Dean. The wolf cocked his head and grinned, flattening his ears a tiny second like he'd done outside in the woods. Sam took it as a yes and closed the door behind him, hoping nobody would try to break into their room.

When he came back, the huge ball of fur on the bed looked up without moving his head, telling Sam that he'd known it would be him and nobody else, and also telling him that it'd been quiet, if Sam judged the sleeping-position right.

"You hungry, Grey-Brother?"

The wolf's head shot up the second he caught wind of the smell from the insulation-bag that Sam had deliberated along with an assortment of meat from the butcher at the other side of the town. He put them on different plates – one for the heart, one for the liver, one for the paunch and so on, until he had ten different plates with ten different meats in front of him.

"Ok, I'll – " he stopped when he spotted Dean, sitting on Sam's bed, drooling like a waterfall. "Dude! That's disgusting!" The wolf looked chastised and ducked, avoiding Sam's eyes and laying his ears flat. He looked pitiful, not evil at all. "All right, sorry. C'mon, let's see what you like best"

Dean jumped from the bed and slinked over, lunging at the plate Sam was just preparing to put on the ground. "Ey, wait!" he said and was astonished how fast the wolf obeyed and stepped back. Watching the animal from the corner of his eye, Sam put the other plates in a row on the ground, smiling to himself when he noticed the puddle of drool around his wolf-brother's paws.

"Ok. Now, look at me" the wolf did. "Go and pick something. Pick one thing. You can't have all, ok? Take the best, not the first piece, you get that?" The wolf just licked his lips and kept staring at the food. "Right. Ok. Not expecting much, but…ok, right, go and eat." When the wolf still didn't move, Sam indicated at the meat with his hand, and like an arrow, the animal was at the plates, sniffing piece after piece thoroughly.

Honestly, Sam had expected that Dean'd choose the heart. It wasn't a human heart, but it was a heart, and it was fresh.

And Dean did. For a second, it looked like he'd take the paunch, but the lure of the big, bloody muscle seemed to be too much. A bit disappointed, but not as much as he'd feared, Sam put the rest of the stuff into the tiny fridge for tomorrow.

At four in the morning, after a long-needed shower, Sam crawled into bed – Dean's, not his drool- and fur-covered one – prepared to fall into exhausted sleep. Right before he went under completely, he felt a weight jump on the mattress next to him, heard some scratching and felt some turning – and some more, and more, and more – until the large body dropped close to his side with a grunt and a happy groan, curling into a ball and sighing like only a dog - or apparently a wolf – can to express extreme contentment.

Sam didn't have the heart to chase the animal away.

It was light out when he woke. His body was sore but not much more than after a heavy workout. It was hot in the bed, and somebody was lying next to him, though Dean didn't recall picking up a girl last night. But there had to be, because he was absolutely certain from the breeze on his more private parts that he was naked.

Not that he recalled much of yesterday at all. There was something… something had happened. Or hadn't it? And why would he take a girl into his own motel-room, where Sammy might drop in on… Sam?

"Sam?" he croaked. Damn, his voice was wrecked, like he'd been screaming…

With a jolt, Dean was vertical. The werewolf, Sam, the little forest, his gun, turning, the pain – all came crashing in on him and he grabbed his head and moaned in pain and misery. If he was dead, he did want some more time to pretend that he wasn't in Hell. And if he wasn't, then he wanted another moment of ignorance before fully waking to the horrors he'd inflicted, before knowing who he'd killed. Before _knowing_ that Sam was dead again. Because he sure as hell wouldn't be sitting unrestrained if Sam wasn't dead, right?

"Dean?"

Shit. What?

"Whassup?"

Carefully, not trusting this, Dean turned around and looked. The person next to him wasn't a girl, and it wasn't a dead, ripped-apart thing either. It was Sam, healthy and bleary-eyed, looking at him with his hair sticking up and around in weird angles. Dean scrambled around to grab a sheet and cover up his nakedness.

"You'a'ight?" the Sam-thing asked, and it was a good question, considering they were sharing a bed which hadn't happened that often since childhood. Dean blinked. And again.

Something… there was something stuck in his mouth. And, now that he thought of it, his mouth tasted like crap. Like… blood.

"Sam…" he croaked again. "What…what did I do? What did… what happened?"

Sam smacked his lips like he, too, had something nasty stuck in there and then rose upright to scratch his head.

"Well, first of all:" he slapped Dean on the head – hard.

"OW! What'cha doin' that for?"

"That was for drugging me, you stupid ass." Sam growled. "and that –" he smacked Dean again "-was for sneaking away and trying to kill yourself without me" he hissed.

Dean rubbed his head and glared at his brother. "Well, sorry for the drugs, but I kinda had the idea that you'd appreciate not watching me kill myself. So I'm rather not sorry for that sneaking part. Also, what the fuck! Why'm I still… why'm I not… what did I do last night?" Oh, he so didn't like the expression on Sam's face. It was in a way a relief to not see some puppy-eyes trying for comfort, so at least he didn't injure anyone, maybe not even Sam. Maybe the fucker had tranqued him? "And why the fuck am I naked in bed with ya?"

"Oh, you were having a blast, boy." Sam chuckled. "First, you ripped up your clothes, so the nakedness is your own fault. Then you went and killed seven evil little fuckers – Dean so didn't squeak, no Sir, he so didn't – "before you licked your balls and drooled on _my_ bed." He grinned some more, but Dean got the impression that whatever else might've happened, it wasn't bad and he probably would never know. "And later you jumped on my bed and fell asleep, and apparently being a naked wolf leads to being a naked Dean in the morning."

Dean shifted around some, trying to find a piece of clothing he could reach.

"What'cha mean – I killed seven fuckers?" he asked, a little tentatively. When Sam's grin spread like that of a maniac clown, he knew he wouldn't like it, not one bit.

"You wondering what that furry feeling in your mouth his?" Before Dean could shake his head, Sam was right there in his personal space. "It is, actually, exactly that." Watching Sam's expression, Dean could guess what his own was doing then. Sam's grin spread even wider, and Dean swallowed. "What says 'squeak' and has a long tail, Dean?" he asked innocently, and Dean choked and rushed to the bathroom to throw up everything he'd eaten – swallowed? – last night. It felt more disgusting than anything he'd ever thrown up, including that one incident when he'd been seventeen and made that stupid bet.

After what felt like an eternity of upchucking blood and fur and tiny claws – yes he'd looked, exactly once – Dean knelt in front of the toilet, shivering from the exhaustion of throwing up his guts. A glass of water appeared from somewhere and he rinsed his mouth thoroughly. A hand took the empty glass and gave it back a moment later, filled.

This time, he drank and swallowed, feeling the cool water hit his empty stomach and shivering when the cold spread through him. He felt stupid and vulnerable, kneeling bare-assed over the can in front of his brother.

"Thanks" he croaked anyway.

"Yeah. Don't mention it" Sam answered. "Sorry" he added after a while.

Dean looked up and took in Sam's features. He was pale and he looked guilty, so not really that much difference to the last time he'd seen him. Groaning, he stood and winced at the crack and creak and the pain in his knees. He was getting old, no two ways about it. And his dick was cold.

"'s all right. Don't worry, Sam. So, why'm I…" he looked at himself "still me? Naked me, but me. Or, why'm I alive? Not that I'm not grateful, I am" God, he was, Sam'd never know just how grateful he was "but… uh, why didn't I get all evil?"

Sam threw a pair of boxers and a shirt at Dean, which he gladly put on. "Truthfully? No idea."

"That's reassuring…" Dean muttered and started to brush his teeth. "So te' me fawt happn'd"

Sam sighed, rubbed his head and sighed again. "Right. But not here. You up for breakfast?" After contemplating his sore stomach, Dean nodded. Breakfast sounded awesome.

Breakfast, was indeed awesome. While Dean was finishing his pancakes, Sam sighed once more and stared into his coffee-cup.

"So… I didn't shoot you" he muttered, and Dean dropped his napkin. No use in eating more, he needed to hear this, and if he needed to barf again, he better not put anything more into his stomach.

"Go on"

Sam looked up. There was misery in his eyes, but also the steel Dean'd come to recognize over the last years, the resolve and strength his brother had developed. The same silent intelligence and power that'd made him able to survive, made him able to beat the devil.

"Don't give me crap about it, ok" he started before Dean could even blink "I couldn't, I tried, but I couldn't. If there… if there was even a hint of a chance… I'd rather be absolutely certain that you'd kill people than err on the side of being trigger-happy!" Sam was hissing and Dean held up his hands.

"Hey, man, not complaining, ok? S' not that that I was looking forward to being dead. Again. But… Go on. What else?"

Sam filled him in, and even though Dean was really happy that both of them were alive and unharmed, he was a tiny bit disappointed as to what a wimpy wolf he turned out to be.

"So, I just… followed you? Just like that?"

"Yupp, pretty much. You went into the dumpster and killed the rats, then followed me into the room and behaved like a good little puppy."

"Bitch. Be glad I didn't rip out your throat"

"Oh, I am." Sam smirked "But still, you were a cute little puppy, all obedient and shit"

Dean didn't like the implications. Too often while growing up had he felt to be nothing but the family-dog to be able to enjoy the teasing. "Shut up, Sam. Let's focus on why. Why didn't I rip your throat out? I don't remember anything from the night after you showed up. Is there…has there ever been a werewolf who didn't kill?"

Sam sagged into the seat. "I dunno" he admitted. "I asked Bobby, he's looking into some stuff, and he said we should go to him for…whatever. But yesterday, he didn't know anything. I didn't find anything on the net either, so…" he shrugged and let his hands fall from scratching his head to the off-white table. "I dunno. No clue."

"Huhm"

"Huhm?"

"Well, it's kinda… I mean, it's not really surprising, is it? If there were werewolves out there who don't kill and maim, nobody would know about them, right? I mean, who'd care? We didn't know about that Lucky-guy until he killed somebody, remember?"

"Huhm."

"See? S' what I said"

The soft grin on Sam's face was nearly worth the grumbling and growling in his stomach, Dean decided. But he still had to go to the toilet before they left. Apparently, wolves didn't deal well with pancakes and coffee.

You live and learn, Sam thought while watching Dean from the corner of his eye. His brother was sitting on the passenger-seat, grumbling and pouting. It shouldn't be possible for a man his age and experience to behave like a little kid, but Dean was pursing his lips and huffing every two minutes in an exaggerated pout.

"C'mon, man. It's not my fault, ok?"

"Shut up, Sam, and drive."

Sam grinned. It was kinda ridiculous and lotsa fun to see Dean like this, even though it would be more than annoying in a few hours. It really wasn't his fault that Dean couldn't take coffee anymore, and his caffeine-withdrawal made him cranky and mean. And tired, which, too, made him cranky and mean. It was gonna be a fun-ride, Sam was sure, and he sighed.

"Stop huffing, Sam! I'm the one who puked three times today. I'm the one who didn't get coffee, so I'm the only one who's got any right to be huffing here!"

Oh yeah. Fun ride.

They were too far away to get to Bobby's in one day. Actually, it would take them about three days, even driving at top speed, which they couldn't do. More like four when they calculated the breaks into it.

So after eight hours of open road, Sam was so tired that not even rock-music on full volume made him stay awake. He was twitchy from the coffee he'd drunk – about a gallon, it felt – and even though Dean had been driving for about half the time, it was just too much. They both hadn't slept much last night, and they both hadn't slept much in the weeks before that.

Not to mention the fact that his brother would turn again tonight, and Sam couldn't imagine that a car was the best place to do that.

He sagged in relief when he spotted the sign for a motel and assembled his last reserves to get the last mile done without driving them into a ditch. In the parking-lot, he sat for a while and just stared, ready to fall asleep right there.

"You plannin' on camping out here?"

Sam jerked up. Apparently, he'd been out of it more than he'd realized, because his brother stood outside his window with a key dangling from his finger. "Uh… yeah. No." Sam muttered and put the car back in gear, followed Dean to room twenty-five.

Just behind the door, Sam nearly ran into Dean's back. "Hey, getta move on, dude. Wanna sleep" Dean turned around and looked at him, uncertain and tired.

"Uhm… what's… could… what happens when I turn?"

Shit. Sam hadn't really thought about that, except that he'd thought about nothing else for miles.

"You gonna… uhm, tie me up?" Dean's voice was softer and hesitant. He hated to be tied up, could usually work through it, but it always took effort. Sam knew that. And, well, it wasn't that different from his own issues. They never mentioned it, just knew and tried to avoid it.

Sam considered the idea, though. Briefly. It wasn't unreasonable, but the last time, Dean'd been in so much pain, writhing and shifting around that the chance of accidental strangulation was indeed a possibility. "No. I think it's… I'll wake up when you shift. 'S not that I won't notice."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, guessing from the crappy feeling I remember, it wasn't a trip to the beach." He started to undress, just let his shirt and jeans drop to the floor where he stood, stepping out of his boots and socks.

Sam just shook his head.

Dean dropped on his bed, curled his arms around his soggy, lumpy pillow and started snoring right away. Upon touching his pillow, Sam was asleep, too, knowing he'd wake up from the noise of Dean shifting form and be there to… be there just in case.

* * *

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

_a/n: I'm really sorry this took so long. I had to iron out some stuff that my friend **shoofus** pointed out to me. I hope it pays off. _

_Thanks to all who reviewed, I'm so happy you're having fun with this. Especially the anon-reader who gave that last review. Thank you for that! And yes, Dean would totally hate not being able to eat chocolate. Good thing he won't remember it in his wolf-skin ;-)  
_

* * *

Something woke him. There was a steady hum, muffled, and a noise that sounded familiar, safe. _Brother, Sam, pack, family_ his twitching nose told him and the wolf huffed in contentment and let his head drop back on the soft surface. The Sam was there, making the sound of sleeping _ snoring_ deeply.

But the wolf was hungry. He tried to find a better position, tried to sleep some more. His _pack_ brother was still asleep so there wasn't anything better to do.

It didn't work. He was so hungry. Smacking his lips, the wolf stood up and shook out his fur. There was this _clothing, t-shirt, boxer-shorts_ stuff on him again, and he cautiously _don't wake pack, family, brother_ ripped it away. One small jump and he was down from the _bed_ soft place he'd been sleeping on. The wolf smacked his lips again. Hungry, yes, but thirsty too. He sniffed. There was water around, he could smell it.

Cautiously, he explored the den he'd woken in. It was different than the other, from the night before, but his pack was sleeping in it and therefore, it was home. The den smelled stale, moldy, unhealthily like smoke, mixed with something sharp and biting. He sneezed and concentrated on the rest of the smells. Some mice'd been here, not long ago, and the wolf followed their trail along the walls for a bit until he found the hole they'd come from. He lay in front of it, nose pressed tight and took in the delicious smells that wafted from there. _Mouse, corn, sugar, decay, old cheese_ he smelled, but when he tried to dig them out, the walls proved to be too strong. The wolf whined a bit but stopped when _brother, pack_ Sam shifted on his bed.

_Don't wake him, he needs sleep_ his mind said, and the wolf didn't question it. Another noise let him perk up. Behind the wall, something was moving, something big.

Voices.

A man, a woman. He could smell them, the female smelled weird, like a dead flower, and the man's voice was deep and loud. The wolf couldn't understand them well, but he growled in warning, hackles raised. Stalking, he checked the wall again.

Strong, sturdy. Nothing would get through it.

He _his pack_ was safe here, and the wolf relaxed, resumed exploring.

In this den, there was no metal puddle _water-bowl_ like in the last. But he was thirsty, and he could smell water. He let his nose guide him, through an opening _door_ into another den with cold, slippery ground. Not ice, he checked. Cautiously, the wolf crept into the small room, following the scent of water.

There was a spring inside some weird, light-colored rock _porcelain_. He could smell it, but it was hidden, something _ lid_ was on top of the water. The wolf scratched at the thing. It was cold and smooth, didn't give when he scratched some more. He used his nose again. Ah, there. A small gap let the smell of the water out, and he pressed his nose against it.

The gap opened and squeezed his nose.

With a yelp, he jumped back and the gap closed, clanked loudly in the small room. Scrabbling and scratching on the _not ice_ floor, the wolf tried to run, to hide, but the floor was slippery and he couldn't get purchase right away. He growled so the thing _lid_ would not dare chase him and he finally managed to run into the bigger room.

After a moment of sheer terror with a pounding heart, the wolf crept out from under the _bed_ sleeping-place. When nothing moved and the Sam slept on, he dared sneak back.

Cautiously, he peeked around the corner, back into the _bathroom_ room. Nothing moved. He was still thirsty. Slowly, step by cautious step, he made his way back into the room, sniffed again.

From behind the wall, a loud moan could be heard, then a shriek and some fast slap-slap-slap, which he knew stemmed from skin slapping against skin. The wolf cocked his head. He was hungry, and there was something to eat behind the wall. But there was also the thirst, and there was the Sam on the bed. He couldn't leave the Sam alone, something might come. His _pack, family, Sam_ brother wasn't as strong as the wolf, had no hair and no claws and his teeth were ridiculously short and insufficient. He couldn't leave Sam alone, anything could kill Sam.

Also, he was thirsty.

Growling, he went back to the _toilet_ spring. He tried again to sniff through the gap, and like before, the gap opened and pressed on his nose. This time, though, the wolf waited.

Nothing happened, the pressure stayed the same. He shoved his snout deeper into the spring and the gap opened wider.

Aha!

With more force this time, the wolf pushed his whole head into the gap. The thing _lid_ clanged against the wall and he jumped back, but he stayed in the room this time.

Nothing happened, but the spring was now open.

The wolf was thirsty and he put his head into the deep rock _porcelain_-bowl and sniffed. The water smelled funny, and even though he couldn't see a lot of color, he was pretty sure that the water was unusually dark.

It tasted funny, too, but he was too thirsty to think much about it.

He drank, drank, drank and drank some more, licking his lips afterwards and sneezed. Disgusting. But better than being thirsty.

Now, though, he was still hungry. Maybe there would be something to eat here?

***

Someone was watching him. Sam had known that feeling far too long in his life to mistake it for anything else, so he didn't react to it. Breathing stayed the same, no moves, he was as lax as he'd been before. Very, very carefully, he opened his lids a tiny bit and peeked under his lashes.

Nothing he could spot.

There was a weird smell in the air, something he knew but couldn't place right then. Something… something… A smacking sound reached him and breathing, fast breathing. Panting?

Oh. Right. Wolf. His brother was a wolf.

Wait!

With a gasp, he sat upright, rapidly checking the room. There was the wolf on the second bed, watching him with those strange yellow-green-brown eyes. How the fuck the thing – no, Dean, not a thing – could've changed without him noticing he had no clue, but he at once spotted the bloody teeth and the dirty muzzle, smeared with some sticky, reddish stuff. Sam knew it was blood, and now he knew what that smell was.

_Nononononononopleasenononono_ his brain fired at him and he jumped from the bed ignoring the wolf who joined him at once and was wagging his tail in anticipation.

Sam didn't have time for this, he needed to know, needed to check. This was a motel, there were people around, lots of people. He should've woken up, or he should've set an alarm-clock, anything. He'd been too tired, relief and the fading adrenaline had taken its toll on him. He should've been more aware, but he'd just fallen asleep, had taken Dean's friendly behavior towards him a sign of Dean's overall peacefulness, had assumed that he'd behave like a wolf based solely on the fact that he looked like one. But now… if the werewolf – his brother – had gotten out, if he'd changed and somehow gotten out, killed somebody, he'd have to… he'd have to. Because Dean would make him, or he'd do it himself if he found out, and Sam couldn't very well hide it, could he?

Right now, Sam couldn't focus on his own guilt in getting a person killed. He'd have time for that later, or maybe he'd take Dean's advise and shove it down and drown it in scotch.

"Stop whining, you stupid beast!" he snarled at the wolf, who stood in front of the door, pawing the wood.

The closed door.

Next to the closed window. In a completely closed room.

Relief rushed through his blood like fire, flushing him hot and cold and he needed to sit for a second. That was when he spotted the opened mini-fridge with the torn-up insulation bag and the bloody marks on the carpet. Oh. Right.

"Sorry, buddy. I was so sure I'd notice you change. Good thing you didn't gnaw on me, so I'm not mad about the food." He stood up from the bed and stepped into something wet. Fearing the worst, he looked at his naked feet. There was a damp, nearly wet spot on the light carpet, but it wasn't yellow, or blood-red, like he'd feared. It was blue. What the Hell?  
The wolf whined again and he looked so pitiful that Sam had to smile. "C'm here, buddy" he called him over, reaching out to stroke his rough fur. The wolf came, but just for a quick pet, then he was at the door again, whining and scratching.

Why did he want to go out?

Oh.

"Oh, whoops. Sorry, let me just … you know what? I don't care. I'll just get my boots and we'll take a short stroll around the block."

He found his boots – gnarled leather, chewed-up laces and all.

"Oh, great. Dean, you… why don't you destroy your own stuff?" He looked at the bed, where another pair of boxers and one more t-shirt lay torn in stripes. "Right."

Sam put on his sneakers and a hoodie against the cold and opened the door. The wolf whined in relief and sprinted to the next vertical thing he could find – the Impala, and Sam would so mock his brother tomorrow – and peed in a long, long, long spurt. Much less tense, the animal panted at Sam, cocked his ears and looked around.

Weirdly enough, Sam didn't have any problem figuring out that Dean wanted to do more than just urinate against the car.

"Right. We could go for… Pizza? Or coffee? Something, I guess. Hey, maybe we'll find some squirrels for ya?" The wolf sneezed and Sam grinned."Let me get some pants on, though" A short walk sounded pretty awesome right now.

And it was pretty cool. After his own visit to the bathroom – where he understood the nature of the blue puddle and feeling deeply ashamed for forgetting to put out a water-bowl – he took an old lunchbox from the car and filled it with water from the tab, which Dean drank up greedily. Sam felt worse now, and a bit worried about any health-problems the blue toilet-cleaner-stuff might cause. He had to look into the eating-habits of wolves, he thought, since there they went out. Dean did his other business and Sam decided to play dumb rather than picking up his brother's poop with a baggy.

Last night, Sam had been too terrified to take in his brother's alternate form, to really look at it as anything else but 'a wolf'. Now though, following the large animal along through the dark streets of the town, he couldn't do anything else.

His brother always had this predatory walk down to pat. When he was a kid, Sam had in equal measures wanted to walk like that and made fun of it – much to the amusement of his dad, who one day found him practicing Dean's swagger in front to the glass-doors of the cabin they'd lived in then. He never mentioned it to Dean, which Sam was really grateful for, but he'd taken him to the side, ruffled his hair and told him that he shouldn't want that gait yet, that he'd get it when the time came without trying.

Of course, Sam hadn't understood then, but now he did. Even though he still didn't have the same confident swagger that Dean had, he now moved like a hunter himself. A predator. A killer. Dean with his bow-legs walked much more badass than Sam, used it sometimes to project confidence when there wasn't any, not deep down. The swagger was as much a wall to hide behind as the snark and insults he threw at their adversaries, already so ingrained in him that you couldn't tell real Dean apart from fake Dean, not when you didn't know him for as long as Sam did. As a wolf, though, there was no projection, no lie behind his movements. Dean was sleek power incarnate. His body was lean and maybe a bit skinny even, his legs were long and his paws pretty big, which made Sam think his wolf-brother had more arctic wolf in him than prairie-wolf. His canine appearance hadn't much in common with the wolves from Kansas. Maybe that was due to who had bitten him? Maybe it had been a Canadian werewolf, or Alaskan? After all, what did they really know about the furry kind of werewolves, apart from appearance and the traits Dean showed?

He'd fallen asleep with a werewolf in the room, and he hadn't even thought about the fact that Dean's second turning might be different and would have a complete different outcome. Hell, what if the animal had panicked? After all, he'd been in a closed room, a strange room, different from the one of the night before.

Shit. Where was the trust based on that the wolf expressed, where did it come from other than maybe Dean recognizing him as family? And on the other hand, where had Sam's trust had come from that he'd been able to fall asleep with first a supernatural wolf and next night with a supernatural person next to him?

The wolf was attentive to Sam, much like the human form of his brother. He seemed to know when Sam stopped or slowed and tuned his own speed to his but not once checking back. He either knew where Sam was or he didn't care much about it, certain Sam would follow.

And there was this… this slink to his walk. The wolf trotted, didn't seem to use any energy at all, but there was such power behind each step and so much hidden strength that Sam found himself wondering if this wasn't the true form, and the human version was the were.

Much as he liked watching the animal and smiling over the eagerness and apparent joy it took from peeing against stuff, Sam wanted the real Dean back. He missed the constant chatter and he missed the silly jokes. He also worried a lot about the wolf just deciding to run and kill and maim, even though he seemed quite peaceful at the moment.

"Dean, wait" he called. The wolf stopped and slinked back to him looking at Sam and then checking where Sam's gaze was pointed. A 24-hour Pizza-parlor. They were lucky to have stopped in a town that wasn't just a gas-station and two farms, but one that actually had some kind of infrastructure."How 'bout some pizza?"

The wolf gave a twitch of his ears and fell in step – and soon out of it – with Sam, crossing the street and walking to the brightly-lit glass-door.

Behind the counter stood a young girl and Sam had the urge to send her home because even if this wasn't Chicago or anyplace else with more crimes than inhabitants, it was still half past one at night and the girl looked all of eighteen. There was no sign on the door that said dogs weren't allowed, but he still leaned in and asked.

"Yes, sure. Take him inside, I don't mind."

"Thanks, he'll uh… appreciate it."

Dean looked cautiously inside and then went in as if he owned the place, head held high, tail relaxed and ears pricked towards Amy, the pizza-girl.

"Oh God, he's amazing! What… is that a husky? He looks so … wolf-like"

"Uh… yes. No. Uh… half. Husky. Half-breed" Nobody who had knowledge of dogs would believe Dean to be a Husky. His fur was too rough and the color was wrong. And yes, Sam did know a lot about dogs, because he'd spent half his childhood dreaming of his own dog which would be his friend and would always be there instead of his parent abandoning them and which wouldn't mock him all the time and would simply listen.

He never got one, except that old Golden Retriever, for the short time he'd been on his own in Flagstaff, but that didn't mean he'd forget all those books he read about dogs.

The wolf-who-was-his-brother was indeed very much a wolf. His long face, though, diverted from the timber-wolves a bit. It was broader between the ears which made the whole head wider. Other than that, he could've been a real wolf. Or maybe some Nordic dog if it weren't for the color. Huskies and their relatives were quite often grey, black or wolf-colored, though they usually had markings of some kind. Dean, in contrast, was a deep, dark grey. So dark that he quite often looked black. There were no lighter markings on him, none at all. The black wolves from Canada looked a lot like him, though those were mostly dark brown, not dark grey.

How his brother, whose hair was the lightest of the Winchesters, had turned out to be such a dark wolf was a mystery, but Sam shoved this particular mystery away for now. There were much more pressing issues.

Amy stepped from out behind her counter and came over and before Sam had an idea what she was up to, she went to her knees in front of Dean. "Awwww, you're a cutie, aren'tcha? What's ya name, honey? Huh? Such a good dog, yes you are" she cooed, and Sam nearly panicked.

Dean was anything but comfortable, based on the look of utter terror and confusion. He blinked and backed away from her, lifting his lips minutely and glancing at Sam and pleading at him to remove her. Which Sam did, once more grateful that his brother seemed to be more animal than evil entity. He could've just as easily attacked but chose to let his brother handle it.

"Ah, Amy, he doesn't really like people touching him. Uh…Bad experiences"

Her face fell but she stood, smile a bit strained. "Sorry. Didn't wanna scare him. How old's he? And what's his name?"

"Ah, uh, Dean. His name's Dean. He's" Sam tried his best to remember a good age of a full-grown wolf but in the end he just had to take a guess "four. He's ah, about four"

"Dean? That's an unusual name for a dog. But then again, he's quite unusual himself" she rubbed her hands together and looked up at Sam, back at her place behind the counter, turning back to professional. "What can I getcha?"

Sam ordered a big pizza with lots of meat – chicken, since he wasn't sure if Dean could eat spicy stuff – and sat down to wait while Dean relaxed against his leg. The chatter from the background told Sam that Amy wasn't as alone as he'd thought initially. There seemed to be a cook somewhere. The wolf's ears twitched back and forth, tuning in to the kitchen-sounds as well as anything else in the area. His nose was moving and every once in a while, Dean lifted his head and sniffed in the direction of the walls, which made Sam very uncomfortable and check for little squeaky animals. He didn't see any, but that didn't automatically mean there were none.

He remembered the rats and Dean's reaction to them. There had to be better stuff to feed a wolf with, and he needed to pick up some new meat. Hopefully this time, he wouldn't have to break into a butcher's shop.

Suddenly, his wolf-brother perked up, tension building in his whole body. His eyes were glued to the door, ears pricked forward and a very low rumble was more felt than heard. It didn't take long and the door opened, bringing a cheerful dingeling and some cold air into the place. A young man stepped in, wearing a pizza-delivery uniform. He didn't wait long, didn't even acknowledge Sam and the wolf and stepped behind the counter. He started chatting with Amy immediately, and she didn't seem to mind.

Dean's attention was still on the guy, the grumble turning more into a growl with every one of the over-enthusiastic moves the youth made.

"Sssh, I got it" he whispered to Dean and noted the ears pricking a bit back to show him the words, if maybe not the meaning, had been heard. Sam shifted a bit backward, relaxing his posture against the chair and surprisingly enough, Dean took the cue and relaxed a bit and lay down. He still kept the guy in his vision, though, as did Sam.

Two minutes later, the man went out again, carrying three big boxes of delicious smells. Dean followed him with his eyes but even more so with his nose, getting longer and longer and trying not to leave his position at the same time as he was inhaling all the scent. A low whine escaped him when the door closed behind the boy.

Sam chuckled. "You really are my brother, aren't ya?" Dean whined again.

"Hey, pizza's ready. Eat here or take-out?" the girl asked from the kitchen.

"Uhm… here, if that's ok?" He was still tired and he also didn't know how to transport a pizza back to the motel without Dean stealing it. The same problem, by the way, as he had with Dean in human form as well.

"Sure, no prob. Comin' right up"

* * *

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

_a/n: Holy Hell! I couldn't update for AGES, I'm so sorry I left you all waiting so long. And because I had to, I'll give you two chapters now. It's just fair, I think. _

_I hope I still have some followers...  
_

* * *

The pizza was good. Not fantastic, but pretty good. Dean seemed to agree, considering the gusto with which he devoured the crust that Sam fed him.

When Amy came over to get the pay, she gave Dean a little pizza-roll, of course after asking Sam if that was ok.

"You don't have a collar for him? You need one, it's the law. They were lax about that a few years ago, but now we got a whole bunch of homeless dogs around here and people are getting real antsy about that kinda thing. There is lotsa folk out who fine you or take your dog away if you don't have identification for him. My boyfriend's shepherd was even taken to the pond! She just sat outside and waited for him to buy some milk and they snatched her away, even though she had a collar! That's nine-twenty-five"

Sam paled. While paying, thoughts about Dean being taken by some dog-snatchers played in his head. Dean wouldn't just let someone take him, no matter which form he was in. If he bit somebody, it would be more than just bad. Maybe the werewolf-infection worked like it did with the vampire-infection? That if Dean would bite a human, that was it? He'd have to do something to prevent that. Maybe some sheet of paper saying he was indeed a dog, not a wolf, because if Sam remembered correctly, it wasn't allowed to keep a pet-wolf. You needed permits and you weren't to take them into public places. He'd at the very least need a collar for Dean. "Where… is there a place I can buy dog-stuff 'round here?"

"Yeah, sure. There's a PetMart north of town. Got all you need" she took the money and thanked Sam for the tip, then turned around to answer the phone. Sam didn't really take notice anymore, too busy thinking about a way to buy a dog-collar for his brother without him noticing. Would he need to buy a leash too? And where could he pick up some meat? He couldn't feed Dean steak all the time, wolves needed intestines and pouch and little of muscle-meat. An ice-box was probably a good idea as well.

The wolf was full of energy. The world _town_ he and his Sam were in smelled so strange, so wrong. Cold, like stone and steal and smoke and something burning, different. No green smells, no flowers, no trees. And it smelled like _not wolf_ dog. Familiar in one way, so, so wrong in another. He picked up male pee here and there and because he was a wolf, and there was absolutely no other wolf out here and certainly no dog which could take him in a fight, he peed in top of their marks. He peed a lot. There were a lot of marks.

But it was necessary! Marking is important, he needed to tell everyone that he was here, that he was the boss around here, and just how strong he was.

The Sam was making huffing noises again, ever since the first ten markings. "Dean, man, there can't still be piss left in ya. Stop with this crap, I'm tired, lets get back." The wolf was annoyed. Sam was _pack, family, blood_ his brother, so he could very well help him!

But instead of marking with the wolf, he just huffed again. Maybe… the wolf sniffed at Sam, who shoved him away. Rude! But it'd been enough time to confirm that his brother wasn't injured and able to lift his leg. So clearly, Sam was just lazy! With an annoyed grumble, the wolf checked one more marking.

Right. This one wasn't worth the bother. He turned, ready to follow the Sam who'd taken the lead and was a few paces away from him when suddenly…

_Desire, love, lust_ pooled in his guts, twisted his sense. He turned around, trying to catch the scent again. There. There. There! His nose hit the ground and his teeth clicked, he smacked his lips and licked the _sidewalk_ ground, taking in the delicious smell and taste of pure love. She was lovely, he just knew that. She was in her prime, three years old, healthy. She smelled and tasted fantastic, and it was only her pee he'd tasted. How much more wonderful would this awesome she-wolf be when he met her in person?

The wolf followed the scent, nothing could stop him. He knew the Sam wasn't agreeing, but he didn't listen. He heard him call his name, over and over, and he sounded worried, but the wolf was in love, and nothing would be able to keep him from his sweetheart.

Nothing. Not even _pack, family_ Sam.

"Dean, Dean, stop, no, Dean, come back…Dean!" The voice from behind got lower, went further and further away. It didn't matter to the wolf, not that much. He didn't want to leave the Sam, but he couldn't stay.

It didn't take long for him to get so far away that he couldn't hear the voice anymore. Didn't matter. He'd find his pack in the morning. There were more important things to do tonight.

.

He'd been following the sweet smell for a while now. The air was filled with love and pure beauty and the marks of his lovely girl were more pronounced, closer together. He was pretty sure she was living around here. He'd find her, he'd… there!

A _house, garden, fence_ den with a lot of grass in front and some weird kind of shrubbery stood just inside the huge cloud of the love-smell he'd followed. It smelled so wonderful, so pretty, that he needed to tell his love, his female, how much he loved her. One jump took him over the shrubs onto the soft green grass. He raised his head high into the night and struck a note, a deep tone that got higher and louder. A song so full of love and longing, of sweet promises and passion, and he sang it for her. Only for her. He told her how wonderful she smelled and how they'd go out, hunting together and play in the fields, how he'd lick her and how he'd protect her from anything.

He was just starting on his second verse when the lair of his sweetheart opened. Yes, she'd heard him! The wolf jumped up, but it was only a human who came out of the opening.

"Shut up you useless mutt!" he screamed and the wolf flattened his ears. This sounded so wrong, not at all like his song. He growled in his throat. Behind the human, he could smell his love. She was in there, he just… he needed only to get past that human to find her.

But the human huffed and turned around and the wolf knew the den-opening _door_ would be closed soon. He might run and get in? But he was a bit afraid of the man. This human wasn't nice and small and sweet-smelling of food, like the tiny one from a while ago had smelled. He smelled big and sweaty and dangerous. Like Sam smelled, only not pack. The door was closing!

No!

He raised his head again, calling her. She could come to him, she lived with this human, the man wouldn't hurt her. So he called out to her, pleading and pledging his love to her for eternity – or at least for tonight.

"That's it, SHUT UP!" the human yelled and he grabbed something. The wolf couldn't see very well, but he knew the man had a thing in his paws and suddenly, something hard struck him at the side of his head.

He yelped and another hard thing hit him, this time against the shoulder. He retreated, slowly, sadly, turned around once more. This time, something cold, wet hit him on his head and he yelped again, scrambled to get away. Something flew at him, hit his backside and yiffing and yelping he ran. The human was mean, and his darling wouldn't come out, and this wasn't worth getting injured.

Love was fine and good, but he'd retreat, come back later when the human wasn't there. Another jump and the wolf was back in the streets again, running away.

He didn't run for long. The experience had shaken him, but he was still very much in love. The summer-air picked up scents so much easier and everything smelled like mating, lust and sex.

So after a few sprints, he slowed down and sat. Maybe he could call her again? Maybe she'd be able to come out to him, or maybe, if he told her, sang to her some more she would come to him in the morning? Yes, that would be it. She would come, because he smelled that she was ready. And what better mate than him, right? He was strong, he was young and he was healthy, and there was no bigger male around here, no better mate anywhere.

The wolf sat and howled again, a sad, lonely song only for his sweetheart. A song about wind in the mountains, snow in the trees and birds and streams and grass all over, only for them.

This time, though, his voice wasn't the only one around. This time, there was an answer.

It was an ugly howl. No love, no finesse in it, and it was also very much not a wolf's song. This belonged to the wrong smells he'd tried to erase with his own markings, the _not quite wolf_ dogs that lived here. The howl turned into a growl and it was answered by others.

The language was different than his, sharper and at the same time more mumbled. But he could make out more than one voice. Barking! Wolves only barked when they were with their pack, used in play and sometimes to threaten another away from the food. But not like this, not that loud and rude and pointless.

He growled and stood, hackles raised, tail up high, ears pricked towards the threat.

From the darkness of the buildings, three _not wolves_ dogs stepped into view. They were ugly, that much the wolf could see. The leading _not wolf_ dog had short fur, which would be fine in a weather like this, but would mean death by freezing in any other. They were all male, his nose told him, reeking of testosterone and urine, believing themselves big and strong. The leader was black, blacker than the wolf himself, with some brown patches in the face and on his legs. He had a broad face and a broad snout and he had floppy ears! No wonder his accent was all weird! When he tried to stalk around him, the wolf realized that the lead-dog also had no tail, just a tiny stump. It was enough to tell he was pissed and pretty much sure he'd win a fight, the tiny thing rose up in the air and the fur on the dog's neck and hip was bristling.

The other two dogs where typical followers. One was tiny, also with a short tail and short fur, his coat was mostly white with brown and black splotches, one ear was standing up, one flopped like the leader's ears. He was growling, rather pathetically. His tiny legs were bouncy! What were these? No wolf has bouncy legs, no wolf would bounce when he's facing a strange male. The wolf dismissed this tiny creature. He wouldn't be worth his breath.

The second follower was quite a bit smaller than the wolf, set somewhere between the leader's size and that of the tiny dog. He was dangerous, that much the wolf could tell. His coat was black, his tail was bowed, nearly curled over his back, his snout was already grizzled-white. He, too, had floppy ears, which, like the face, were marred by scars from various fights. He didn't look very impressive, but he had that certain sparkle in his eyes that said he was smart, even if not strong. This one would take advantage of every weakness, be it that of the wolf or of his own leader.

Those three weren't a pack. They lived together, but that was all. There was no order in their lives, the leader was only leader by force and lack of resistance, and the wolf was sure that they fought over meat, actually harming each other. Even if his nose hadn't told him already he'd have known it now: these weren't wolves, didn't act like wolves.

They wouldn't be fighting like wolves either.

The leader stepped around him, insulting the wolf with his whole body, telling him in no uncertain words that this was his district. Normally, the wolf would retreat. This wasn't his home, his pack wasn't around and there was no meat to fight for or family to defend.

But there was this delicious girl, not far away, and he wanted her. Wanted her with all his heart, he wouldn't let those punks get in his way!

So he took a stand, braced his legs, curled his toes to get a good grip on the hard surface of the ground for quick movements. He raised his hair some more and growled deep, deep in his chest, baring his teeth and snarling, tongue stuck out between the front teeth. He stared at the leader with all the fury he had in him, daring him to make a move. This situation could still be handled without blood, from his point of view. No use in anyone losing his live today.

The leading dog stalked around him some more, not backing down, not giving an inch and the wolf realized that no, this wouldn't end well.

* * *

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

_As promised, chapter 5 coming right up!_

* * *

Sam was frantic with worry. Dean was gone, hadn't listened to his calls, just trotted – hurried, really – away from him, nose firmly on the ground, tail raised. Sam knew enough about dogs that he recognized hunting-behavior. But Dean had been well-fed! He couldn't be hungry, could he? _Oh God, please, don't let him get hungry for human hearts, please!_ he prayed to a god he didn't believe in anymore while he rushed back to the motel, frantically digging in his pockets for the keys to the Impala.

He was tempted to call on Castiel, but after their brief talk while he'd still been searching for the cure for this had turned into a shouting match, full of accusations from both sides as to who cared less about whom Sam didn't dare to try their friend again.

He might be able to help, but then again, he also might not. Or refuse to, which would be so much worse. There was the possibility that Cas had too much to worry about in his own spheres and even though Sam was reluctant to put anything above his brother, a celestial war did sound pretty bad.

So he just jumped into the car and started her up, driving back to the place where Dean had disappeared from. He'd drive all night if he had to, he'd find his brother!

***

The attack came as a surprise. Not a second had the wolf contemplated the possibility that it wouldn't come from the leader! But it was the tiny dog that sprang at him, snarling viciously and jumping high enough to reach his face. Only his quick reflexes saved him from a ripped-off ear and let it grab the mass of fur on his neck. The little beast actually managed to pierce the skin, but the wolf didn't have time to do anything about it, for the big leader took the opportunity to make his move.

.  
Wolves and also dogs fight a lot, though most fights are, while loud and dangerous-looking, rather bloodless. Some minor scrapes but no deep wounds, lots of loud growls and vicious snarls. If one of the opponents backs down, the other usually lets him leave, maybe chase him a bit so he'd think twice of being disrespectful towards the winner.

A real fight, one with intention to damage and kill is usually silent. No breath is wasted on growls, no snarls are made and the one that bared his belly would be the one that lost his intestines.

A real fight is rare, among dogs and among wolves.

A real fight ends bloody and fatal.

.  
There was nearly no sound in the alley. The big leader went in for the kill, certain that the wolf would be preoccupied with the tiny creature buried in his skin, but he was wrong. Oh-so-wrong. Channeling his fury, the wolf met the big dog in the middle between them, teeth bared. He went in high, aiming for the throat and only in the last second ducking down and left, letting the dog bite his heavy-maned shoulder but as a consequence finding the dog's leg without protection. A single, vicious bite was enough to break the bone, a shrill, pained yelp the result. The dog though took the pain and channeled it and the two of them were at each other's throats, tearing and shaking and ripping, still making no noise apart from occasional yelps of pain.

The little dog had let go, which was the last and dumbest thing he did. One well-aimed bite broke his spine and now it was whining and whimpering somewhere to the left of the fighters, twitching in his last throes. It wouldn't be suffering for long, the wolf knew. He was very accurate with his killing bites. The black dog hadn't yet entered the fight, for which the wolf was very grateful. The lead- dog was much stronger than he had anticipated.

A fang dug into his neck, pretty deep, and ripped a piece of skin and fur from him. The sudden sharp pain fueled his fury, and the wolf snapped and bit hard, digging his long teeth into fleshy shoulder of the huge dog.

It was a good bite, and the wolf felt the muscle tear underneath his jaws, felt bone scrape against his teeth. The dog yelped and went down, not able to stand on any of his front legs anymore. And the wolf didn't hesitate. This was a real fight, and one of them would die. It hadn't been his decision, but the concept of mercy wasn't known to the wolf – and it wouldn't be known to the dog either. They had started life-or-death, it would end life-or-death.

A cracking-crumbling-crunching sound accompanied the ripped-out throat of the big dog, ending his life quickly. It had nothing to do with mercy either, was just because the wolf – in contrast to the dogs – still knew how to make a swift kill, be it for food or for taking down an enemy.

Panting, the wolf looked around, prepared for another round. The black dog, though, stood out of reach, flattening his ears and looking away in clear submission. He wouldn't fight the wolf. Smart dog.

A snarl and bared bloody teeth were all that was necessary to send him running, and the wolf stood alone once more, adrenaline fading and leaving him in a state of pain.

But there was still the scent of his girl in the air!

It was nearly morning when he reached the _house_lair of his sweetheart. He didn't feel much like singing, but he'd wait for her to get out. He could smell her all over the grass, so she'd come outside to pee sometime soon, he was certain.

After that night, he deserved some love. There was a _shed_ wooden structure in the _yard_ where he found a puddle of water. Greedily, he lapped it up and looked for a place to lick his wounds and sleep for a while. He'd know when his girl came out.

***

Sam'd had a night of pure terror. He'd driven through the town until the tank was empty, then he'd taken to search for his brother on foot. He'd yelled Dean's name until he was hoarse and he'd gotten more than one shoe thrown after him, more cursing than he'd gotten from Bobby in all the years he'd known him combined. He was bone-tired, his legs were aching from the strain and now he was at his wits end.

It was no use looking anymore anyway. Daylight had come just when he'd reached his motel, not that he'd consciously been going back there. His feet had taken him and he hadn't fought anymore. There wasn't anything he could do now. It was daylight, and Dean'd be human again. The moment he'd be aware, Dean would call him. He would. He wouldn't run away or kill himself, Sam was telling himself over and over and over.

He wanted to stay awake, but his limbs were so heavy and he sat down on the bed, the cheap map of the town he'd gotten in a gas-station to look for likely places a wolf would go, or where Dean might go when he was aware again.

When he started to waver from exhaustion and his eyes lost focus, he lay back, feet still planted on the floor. Just for a second, he told himself. Just for a tiny second. He'd get up and drink coffee in a second. He would

***

Sam's ears were ringing from exhaustion. It was buzzing around his head and he shook it to clear his thoughts. Sam was sitting at the table where he'd placed the map and the laptop after he'd nearly fallen asleep a few hours earlier, buried in research about every scrap of lore there was about werewolves.

The big problem wasn't that he couldn't find anything. Quite the contrary: there was too much. There were fan-sites from _Twilight_ and _Underworld_, role-playing games and _A werewolf in Paris_, not to mention _Wolf_ with Jack Nicholson, which Dean'd really loved. Sam wasn't sure if that still held now. All those had long explanations about the werewolves, tales and lore about how they came to be, how they shifted and how they lived. That on top of what he knew from the disaster with Madison – the need to sleep to be able to shift was apparently not valid for Dean – his head was buzzing and he was sure smoke was coming out of his ears.

None of it was really useful or reliable. Sure, there were the old tales and there were many references to books about that, but nothing online. He'd need a library, had hoped for Bobby's but now wasn't sure if that was the best place to be, the best course of action.

Because while reading about werewolves, he'd read a lot about wolves too, and he'd found a link to the danger a wolf could get in from eating infected or poisoned rats.

While Bobby's yard was a good place as there weren't many people, there were too many rats to let Dean roam around there, even though Bobby never poisoned his rats. Sam had asked him once when a big, ugly rat had bitten the then current dog – Zeus? – and Bobby had told him that it was useless and incredibly cruel to the rats. He'd rather have cats and coyotes and other animals take care of it.

And not just that. If a rat could be this dangerous to the tough stomach of a wolf, he'd also seen how his brother in his usual form had reacted, and those fuckers had sharp teeth and claws and could've damaged his throat and stomach. To think that Sam had joked about it…

The ringing returned. Sam scrunched his forehead in concentration, trying to think past the noise. It sounded like… like… sounded really a lot like a telephone?

"Fuck!" He was upright so fast that he nearly toppled over from the headrush. Still seeing stars and sparks and shades of black and red, he grabbed his cell from the nightstand and punched the button. "Dean! Where're ya?"

Silence, and for a terrifying second Sam was afraid that it wasn't his brother on the line.

"Uhm… Sam?"

Sam exhaled and fell back on the bed, adrenaline leaving his body. "Thank God. Dean, where are you?"

"I… I'm at the …" there was some shuffling at the phone, then Dean spoke again "the 'Market-Diner' on Elmore Drive." Silence again. "I… I don't know where that is, or how you get there. Or how I got here" the last sentence was spoken with irritation. Dean was clearly getting fed up of his situation.

"I'll getcha. Are you ok? You hurt?"

"Uh, not much. I got some… bites and scratches. Nothing serious. Just, uh, bring some money, okay?"

Sam fought the fog in his brain to think. The Impala was still parked somewhere in town, empty. He'd have to get a taxi. He checked for cash and thought it would do. "I'll be there soon as I can. Hold on. Don't… don't run or do anything stupid. Buy something to eat."

***

Dean replaced the receiver and tried to smile at Darla, who had kindly let him make a call from the phone in her diner. She was overweight and in her mid- to end-forties, graying, once-upon-a-time brown hair in a classic bun. She must've had a sweet spot for bums and scruffy people without money, because Dean knew he looked like a mess, hair sticking up in all directions and he was wearing clothes that weren't his, didn't even fit well and he wasn't sure if he managed to cover up the fact that he wasn't wearing any underwear. There hadn't been any available, he'd been pretty damn lucky that he'd found as much as he had. He honestly didn't care a damn about his looks today, and still Darla had taken a liking to him.

He'd woken on grass, slightly damp from the nightly dew. The morning had been cool but not cold, which was a blessing since he'd been naked like the day he was born. He'd been curled up next to a wooden shed in a garden, somewhere behind a bush, nothing he recognized but thankfully not a rose.

He'd also been hurting quite a bit, sharp spikes of pain and the dull throb of bruises that all told him he'd been bitten, even without looking. Pretty telling for their lives to know what kind of damage was done only by analyzing the pain.

It had been taxing to sneak away from the shade and leave his hiding-place without being seen. A naked man in a garden wouldn't really have gone over well with the local police, even though they would've taken his excuse of having been drunk completely without twitching an eyebrow.

Still, everything was better than calling Sam from jail, and so Dean had looked for something to cover himself with, and even though it had been completely humiliating to wear a blue garbage-bag, it had at least allowed him to leave the garden without fear of flashing the owners while climbing over the fence.

When he'd found the clothes-line only three gardens over, where someone hadn't cared a damn about the property-prices and had left the laundry out over night, he'd given God a heartfelt 'Thank You'. Until he'd remembered that he was still pissed at the guy and had taken it back, that was.

Two more houses over, he'd found something to put on his feet.

So he was at least in clothes and the morning-sun had warmed his ice-cold skin into a moderately tolerable temperature when he'd spotted the diner where he had cleaned up and managed to get a hot drink with only the promise of paying when his brother arrived and even gotten to use the phone.

Sighing wearily, he sat down at a corner-booth with view of the front-door and a wall at his back and settled in for the wait, smiling at Darla when she brought him a piece of pie with the hot chocolate he'd asked for. No coffee was just the right kick in the nuts to his already shitty morning.

* * *

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

_Faster than usual, since I've left you waiting so long last time. _

* * *

Thirty minutes after the call, Sam stepped from the taxi into the brightly-lit horror in pink that was the 'Market-Diner'. He found Dean right away, huddled over a table at the back, looking up when Sam entered and nodding in acknowledgment.

Sam sunk into the booth in front of his brother and assessed him. Dean was pale and there were some angry scratches on his face, cleaned already, probably in the diner's bathroom. He was wearing a green plaid-shirt two sizes too big and a pair of unfamiliar and too wide-and-yet-too-short jeans. The whole look was topped with a pair of flip-flops that looked worn and cheap and had pink flowers on 'em, which Sam had seen under the table when he'd first spotted him. Dean looked pathetic, like a little boy lost. How ironic, considering Dean was 33 years old and hadn't been a boy for long, long time. But Sam guessed this appearance was the reason Dean'd been allowed to call Sam from the phone at the cash-register, gotten a cup of something and probably pie, judging from the crumbles on the plate in front of him. It was also the explanation for the worried looks the matronly waitress kept throwing their way. Sam decided to leave the anger over his brother's disappearing-act for later.

"What happened?"

"Hell if I know" Dean's voice was scratchy, hoarse like Sam's had been after yelling Dean's name all over town. "Woke up in a garden, butt-ass-naked. Got some scratches and bites on me, and…" he trailed off until the waitress had taken Sam's order "and lots of hair in m' mouth. Tasted crappy. Oh, and I puked again. Bloody, meaty stuff. Sam, my stomach hurts like a sonofabicht, what the hell did I do? Why am I here and not with you? How did I get into that garden?"

"Uh. You ran off."

"I did what? How? Didn't you lock the door?"

"Of course I did! You ate all the meat I'd brought for ya, every scrap. So when I… when I woke up, you were full and you whined and man, I couldn't let you crap in the room, could I?"

"Might've been an improvement" Dean grumbled, then perked up "Whaddaya mean, 'woke up'? Didn't you notice me changing?"

"Uh…no. It's either faster" _and less painful_ "the second time, or it just goes smoothly when you're asleep. Didn't notice a thing until one at night" And damn, he should have, Sam told himself.

Dean was scratching his hair, absentmindedly picked out some grass and frowned. "Hmh. Doesn't seem to be lotsa fuss the other way 'round, too, I guess. Nobody noticed me. I'm just glad there are still people here who dry their clothes outside" he tugged at the huge shirt "What next?"

Sam had to wait a bit when his breakfast arrived, taking some good-sized bites and trying not to worry about Dean not eating anything. "I took you out to … uh, you know, do business" he smirked internally when he remembered the car, but refrained from mentioning her, since he'd have to explain where she was and why he couldn't remember it right now "and we went to get pizza. Way back, you get all weird and started sniffing and off you went. And, uh, that's kinda all until you called." Sam resumed chewing, only realizing his hunger now that his brother was safely in front of him. But from the corner of his eyes, he knew Dean was brooding.

"So… what if I..."

"Killed somebody?" Dean nodded. "You didn't"

"Sure 'bout that?"

Sam hesitated only for a split second. "Absolutely. For one, we met about six people last night and you were more cautious of them than anything, no interest at all. And there was nothing about dead people on the local station. Anyway, why would you go and suddenly decide you want some" Sam lowered his voice "human meat" he spoke normal again "when you'd been well-fed? No reason at all. You actually acted more like…"

"Like what? Sam?"

Sam was silent, his mind replaying the scenes from the night before. Fuck, he'd seen dogs act like that! He'd seen Bones go after dog in heat, in Flagstaff, and that was pretty much exactly what Dean had looked like, only much more scary and faster than the old Goldie. Fuck.

"Sam, what? Sam!"

"Uh… more like…like … not as interested in _food_, y'know?" He hoped Dean would get the picture without Sam being more explicit. When he peeked up after several seconds of silence, Dean was staring wide-eyed at him, touching his face absentmindedly, feeling his scratches and bites. Suddenly, he slapped his hand over his mouth and scrambled out of the seat, rushing off towards the bathrooms in a hurry.

Shit. So he'd figured it out.

Sighing heavily, Sam decided to give Dean a few minutes before following. Under different circumstances, it might've been funny. But to realize you probably bedded a different species the night before was at the least a horrible thought, even if you didn't think about the possible consequences. Which Sam was trying very hard not to do.

After a moment, he got up and followed Dean to the restrooms.

"Dean" Retching from one of the stalls "You ok?" Stupid question. Sam knocked and the door to the stall swung open, testament to how much in a hurry Dean had been. He looked up in misery and Sam felt the tug of compassion again.

He went and fetched a cup from his table, rinsed it and filled it with water. "Look, how about we'll check, ok? I'm pretty sure the dog in question is fine and still non-pregnant. I mean, you woke up in the yard, right?" No answer "Dean? Hear me?" Sam leaned against the stall to hear better.

"Ya…" a croak.

"So, you couldn't have gotten into the house. Right? Or did you?" The toilet flushed and his pale brother stepped out. He took the cup Sam offered and rinsed his mouth, spitting into the sink before swallowing some water after filling the cup a second time.

"Don't think so, everything closed and looked undisturbed" he croaked. Sam took the time to check on his appearance. Dean's eyes were red-rimmed and he had bluish bags underneath them; looked like death warmed over, and Sam felt a spike of guilt for falling asleep. Dean bent over to rinse his mouth and Sam noticed several bite-marks on his neck.

"What the hell? Dean!" he grabbed him and pulled the shirt-collar down, trying to get a better look.

"Hey, don't, Sam! What the fuck?"

"You're bleeding, you ass!"

"I know, I told ya! It's just some bites, nothing se – OW!"

"Right. Nothing big. I hear ya. Shirt off. Now!"

Dean tried to stare Sam into submission, but Sam wouldn't budge. He was sure there wasn't much injury, his brother'd been too agile for anything really bad, but animal-bites were nasty, and even though they regularly got their tetanus-shots, the wounds needed a look.

So with a grumble and a cough, Dean opened the huge shirt and Sam sucked in a breath.

Dean was blue all over, puncture-marks accentuating the bruises here and there. Not much blood was lost, only one wound was a rip where the skin had been torn, the rest just deep pockets made by large teeth.

"Wow. That's impressive"

"Hurts like a bitch" Dean admitted and Sam was relieved about that. If Dean was complaining, the wounds were minor. His brother had a weird indicator for pain: minor pain – bitching and moaning and trying to get sympathy. Major pain – silence. Everything above major pain – deep moans and bitten lips, and excruciating pain merited screaming at the top of his lungs.

This here was nothing, on the big scale of Winchester-injuries. Painful and annoying, but nothing serious. Sam still decided to make Dean take some painkillers and let him tend to the bites, put some of the antibacterial cream on them. Infection wasn't anything they really needed on a good day, not to mention in the fucked-up situation they were now.

"Ok. Put it back on and let's get outta here."

"Good idea. Can't wait to get back on the road and get rid of this sucky werewolf-infection. And we need to check out that house, with the dog-girl in it. I don't even wanna think about…" he trailed off. "Not thinking about anything. C'mon, let's go."

"Yeah. There's just… we just have to pick up the car before that"

"Pick up the …car? Why?" Dean stared at Sam in the mirror and Sam tried his best to meet the gaze. It wasn't possible. "Sam? Why'd we need to pick up my car? Sam? Sam!"

***

Dean felt like crap. His legs were fine, but his shoulder and neck had gotten a good chewing.

He'd been bitten by dogs before and he could honestly say that this time, it was worse. The bites were deep and the swelling around them was sore and painful to the touch. He was already turning blue, but in a few days, the bruises would take on the green-yellow-purple hue he knew from many injuries.

Like he'd told Sam, it wasn't really serious, but it was annoying and restricted his movements. It also lead to the question of what he'd done last night to get bitten that often.

Had he killed the female dog? That was unlikely. Best explanation was either a dog defending its property – or a dog defending its owner. He really hoped Sam was right. He usually was with this kind of stuff, with his instincts on the level of malice in a creature. Then again, Sam had trusted Ruby, more than even his brother. Yes, it still stung. He'd been telling the truth about letting things go when you're family, in their line of work. But that didn't mean that you could erase stuff that once happened. No matter what, it was still there, still a fact. Dean had tortured souls in Hell, and Sam had trusted a demon.

It still smarted, like a band-aid that had been ripped from a hairy area, not much compared to other stuff but still there, still lingering. You could forgive the person who tore it off for doing that, but it still hurt a bit.

He'd long ago forgiven Sam for being too crazy by grief and falling into the lure of easy solutions, yet the scars that had left were still there, even though tiny. They were fading day by day, made pale next to other scars, more recent ones, like those made by the loss of Jo and Ellen. Next to regret and a different kind of grief he still felt when he went through his phone-numbers and had to skip over "L", they were nearly invisible.

But there was no use in dwelling on it much. He either had done something evil last night or he hadn't. They'd find out one way or another, and Sam wouldn't be able to keep a mauled body secret.

As for the other stuff he might have done, Dean refused to think about it. He'd rather imagine Bobby in the shower than this, or of what might have to be done with the dog.

It was a welcome distraction to look for his car in the streets and occasionally bitch at Sam for leaving her alone in a strange city. He wasn't really worried about his girl, but it felt good to get angry at Sam for minor stuff instead of replaying possibilities in his mind and thinking about what it would mean to him if he ever did turn out to be dangerous. What it would mean to Sam.

***

It had been less hard to find the Impala than Sam had feared. Maybe Dean really had the claimed Impala-radar in his head, or maybe it was coincidence that they spotted her so soon, but the car had been standing safe and sound at the side of a street where Sam didn't remember leaving her. It. Whatever.

Dean'd navigated Sam to the house where he'd woken in the garden that morning, after Sam had convinced him that he could find the property better if he didn't have to concentrate on driving. Now, they were talking to the owner of the beautiful garden, telling him how sorry they were that their dog had gotten loose, and asking if something'd 'happened'.

"Oh, that was yours?"

"Uh…yeah. He just…uh"

"He just ran off yesterday" Sam stepped in when Dean didn't seem to find his words. "He's a good dog, but a bit of a tramp when it comes to a good-smelling girl." Sam winked.

"Nah, that's ok. He was kinda loud, I mean, he was howling like a wolf, but nothing happened. Alina was inside the whole night" Sam felt his brother sag against his shoulder, just a minute relaxation that probably wasn't visible for Mr. Lanchor in front of them. "I was a bit annoyed and I really don't want strange dogs in my yard, so I threw some stuff after him." The man scratched his balding head and looked a bit sheepish. "Just shoes. It was also four o'clock or something like it"

"That's ok, I'm just glad that he didn't…" Sam wanted to say bite, but was stopped by Dean's " - do anything with your dog. So, if everything's fine, we'll be leaving. Sorry for that" and he tugged Sam backwards to leave.

Just when they turned, an attractive woman opened the door to the garden, bringing with her a stunning Saluki on a leather-leash. The dog was smoky-black with white-tipped, long-feathered ears and tail and a spring to her gait that made her look extremely elegant. The woman waved to her husband, frowned a bit at Sam and Dean but smiled amiably when they passed. The dog sniffed at Sam, but when she'd caught scent of Dean, she whined and nearly dragged the leash out of her owner's hand.

"Ali! Stop that! Sorry, she's not usually that… well. She's usually better behaved" the woman said and Sam chuckled to himself over the sudden increase in Dean's speed to leave the garden.

Back in the car, Sam snickered until Dean swapped him on the head. "Stop that. Let's get going. I wanna end this nightmare fast as I can" he scowled, than pursed his lips. "Gotta admit, though, wolf-me has excellent taste. That was a fine-looking dog if I ever saw one"

"Dean, there is so much wrong with this statement I'm not even gonna try. Just one thing: the way I see it, youd've fucked a pug"

Dean's growl and pout was quite amusing for the drive back to their motel.

* * *

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey folks. Next chapter is up. Thanks again for my reviewers, honestly, without you, it'd be depressing. Have fun._

* * *

Bags packed and stuff stored, bill paid and after a brief conflict about who would be driving – Sam lost, even though he'd had the better arguments – they were off towards their next stop, wherever that would be.

At a Dairy-Queen, not far out of town, they stopped to get milk-shakes. Sam was pretty certain those would stay inside his brother, having tested that theory when Dean'd suffered from a nasty bug a few years back. It would also be digested easily and hopefully not cause problems for the wolf either.

Dean hadn't eaten that much the last few days. Since he'd turned, he'd had food, sure, but he'd also puked a lot. Everything he ate as a wolf came back up in the morning, and yesterday Dean had tried coffee every time they stopped, and every time it'd come back up afterwards. So there hadn't been anything inside his stomach all day.

That made two days entirely without food, but Dean had eaten a lot on his presumed last day, feasting on pie and burgers with gusto. That was the only reason Sam didn't worry that much about his brother's health yet.

"'kay, lets hit the road, Sam" Dean smirked and took a long swallow from his shake. Sam glanced over, took in his pallor and the pasty skin-tone that indicated lack of sleep. He tried to remember when Dean had slept well the last time, and couldn't. The last weeks had been filled with nightmares, which ended in Sam not sleeping at all, still trying to find a cure and Dean staying awake with him.

They needed rest, and soon. He'd been hoping they would get it at Bobby's, but now…. They were both pretty good with exceeding their limitations, but driving while half asleep wasn't smart, and nobody would be better off when they ended in a ditch somewhere.

They'd probably have to stop and get some shut-eye in the day, so they'd hopefully be more awake and fresh in the night.

And then there was still the matter of collar and leash, and the fight they would have about it.

Great.

***

Dean was tired. His stomach had settled a bit, now that he had his second ice-cream-cone and two milkshakes in it; finally stopped the growling and churning it had used to tell him its dissatisfaction with being empty. He was also a bit anxious about the whole werewolf-situation he was in. There wasn't much evil about him, apparently, and Sam seemed to be sure that Dean wouldn't suddenly attack anyone without cause. Still, he worried.

It wasn't even the fact that Dean turned into a furry animal and ate raw meat at night. Wasn't even the puking, he could probably do something about that. Lack of coffee was bad, but he'd gone without it before.

No, Dean's problem was that he couldn't remember anything he did at night. He turned and then he was a wolf, and he seemed to be wolf through and through.

He knew a little bit about wolves, had watched a documentary about them one night and had been impressed by their hunting-strategies. But he'd fallen asleep soon after the deer-hunt and hadn't learned much. Their father had made Sam and Dean read about wolves and other wild animals of the US so they'd get the difference between them and anything supernatural, also making them understand their significance in Native American religion and folk-tales. But Dean had focused on the evil things out there, knowing that it was enough to understand how they worked to recognize them and tell them apart from anything natural.

Sam had probably read about every breathing thing on the planet. He'd had this science-fling while in eighth grade, where he had swallowed everything and anything about science and how the world worked, just to be contrary. He'd told Dean over and over how nature was this huge balance, claimed that it was wonder enough and why they always had to seek out the freakiness. It had driven Dean nearly insane, 'specially when Sammy had started to bug Dad with this crap.

Now, though, Dean was hoping Sam knew enough about wolves to base his faith in him on solid science, not on just a hunch.

Hunches and firm believes didn't always work that well, he'd learned. He had believed in Sam's goodness all his life – still did, by the way – but it hadn't kept Sam from falling in with the bad crowd, turning into somebody Dean nearly hadn't recognized. He trusted his brother, completely, ultimately and without hesitation. Maybe even more than strictly healthy but it couldn't be changed.

Still, would Sam really see it if wolf-Dean turned evil? How would he notice? He hadn't noticed when Ruby played him, and Ruby hadn't been half as close to the little brother as Dean was. There weren't any options, apart from suicide, though. Either trust Sam in this, believe in his instincts again and hope to high heavens that it was justified and that his brother would be able to do the right thing when it came to it, or get away and put a bullet in the heart. But Dean neither wanted to die, nor would he do that to Sam if there was a choice.

Dean ran his hand through his sticky hair. It needed a wash, his body needed a shower and his brain rest.

Why the fuck did all this stupid stuff happen to them, all the time! He'd never heard of other hunters turning into something… something as often as they seemed to do. Switching bodies with a kid? Drinking demon-blood? Becoming a vampire? Seemed to come with the family-name. Now a freaking werewolf. Not to mention the sheer amount of deaths they'd been through. Dean was just glad – and slightly terrified – that they had a real, final death to look forward to, now that all the angel-crap was done.

He didn't wanna rush the dying, though, so Dean wasn't too eager to dismiss Sam's belief in his internal goodness, wolf or not.

With a deep sigh, he slid down the seat and leaned back, wrists resting lazily on the steering-wheel. They wouldn't make it to Bobby in four days. They needed to rest, and they needed time to think. Right now, they were stumbling along and not thinking straight, and made mistakes like the one last night. He'd just run off, and there hadn't been a chance of Sam catching him. And what would happen if he bit someone? Not because of some evil inside, but for a good reason, like when he was defending Sam, or food? What if he bit Sam when his brother did something that he – the wolf – didn't like?

Holy shit, what about those dogs that must've fought with him? Could werewolf-infection be spread to other canines? Did they run around town, infecting other people now? Dogs were basically wolves, right? So there was no reason that this…this thing couldn't be spread over to a dog?

And if they weren't infecting people, what then? Did he kill them? Was there a little boy crying over his dog now, maybe finding it in the streets, all ripped to shreds?

Dean took in a shaky breath and tried hard to keep the shudder to himself. He knew what'd happen if he asked Sam. Sam would look at him, exasperated and worried and guilty and annoyed, and he'd smile this smile he sometimes wore, the one that said 'Aw Dean, you're so cute sometimes' like Dean was a little boy who spilled the milk instead of a person who'd killed demons and angels and bashed other nasty's heads in, bare-handed. Like a man who would leave one brother's soul in a cage with Lucifer and Michael without even blinking and get the other one out.

He didn't like that look. He wasn't _cute_, and it wasn't cute that he worried about dead dogs. Dean didn't want Sam to look at him like that. Maybe he could just avoid asking, then? Check out for himself? They needed to do research anyway.

There were just too many things they didn't know to keep on going without a plan, too many possibilities of things going haywire. Bobby was a master in research, he'd certainly be able to dig something up.

.  
"Uh… Dean?"

"Yupp"

"You know, I been thinkin'…"

"Never a good thing. I thought I'd broken you out of this habit by now"

"Haha. No, seriously" Sam had his earnest face on, the one that was less pleading-begging-puppy but more 'I'm an adult and I know stuff you don't'. Dean hated that face with a vengeance, always had, even when it'd been on his father's grizzled and familiar features. He sighed.

"What then?"

"See, there was this girl in the pizza-place last night. She… she reminded me of somethin'"

"C'mon, don't make this a guessing game. Just spill. I'm sure I won't like it, and I swear I won't like it more if you pussyfoot all around the issue. Just get it out."

Classic bitch-face. Cool, hadn't seen that one in a while.

"Fine. She said dogs need a collar and identification."

"Not a _dog_, Sam!" Dean growled, even though he knew and agreed with what Sam was saying.

"Yeah, 'bout that? To keep a wolf, you need a permit. Without permit, they shoot the wolf. So yeah, I think it'd be much better if we could at least pretend that you are a fucking dog! That is, if you've gotten over your suicidal tendencies yet." Sam growled in answer, spitting his anger at the only target that was there. Dean sighed and stared out the windscreen, losing himself in the mesmerizing white lines that showed them the way to the horizon. It had always been full of promises to Dean, even now, years after losing his family and nearly losing the world, the open road managed to calm him, show him a future that was better than the past.

Sammy had always looked behind at what they'd left in their lives, always looked for what was missing, while Dean had taken what was there and kept it as close as possible – too close, he knew that – and looked forward to every new day, every new destination.

Unlike Sam, it wasn't leaving he minded, never had been. It was arriving that filled him with dread, stopping the road before it had run to its end, before it had shown him what could be.

Sure, he'd calmed down a lot these last decades. He'd learned too much, found new goals to set than only ever chasing ghosts and dreams. But the familiar urge to take his car, his home, and move, keep moving on and on hadn't been erased, not in life, not in death, not in Hell.

It wasn't just because of Sam that he'd kept her under a tarp while he'd stayed with Lisa and Ben. Seeing her had always, every single time, reminded him that his car needed gravel under her wheels and wind against her windows, rock-music in her heart. Keeping her under wrap had ensured that he wouldn't one day jump in and leave, and keep driving until he'd reached the end of his road.

"Yeah, I know" he sighed, making Sam frown at him in astonishment. "Next pet-store, we see, we get one. But dude, I want a real bad-ass collar: With spikes or studs, or somethin'. Not some wimpy, skimpy stuff!"

"No?" Sam grinned "Aww, and I so wanted to get you one of those cute ones, with pink swirls and hearts and glass-stones as engravings… I might get one anyway, 's not that you would notice in your other form…"

"Don't you dare, man! I swear you'll regret that on a much grander scale than just being bitten!"

"Yeah? What'd you do? Pee on the car – oh, whoops"

As much as he pretended to be horrified, Dean enjoyed the glee in his brother's eyes while they bantered. It had been a long time since he'd seen him this carefree, and yeah, they hadn't had much reason to laugh but he'd still missed it, more than he'd ever admit.

***

"Pet-Paradise" was one of those huge-ass mega-stores, set in the wilderness far off the next city-limits that kept sprouting out of nowhere every day, it seemed. It didn't stand alone; there was an outdoors-store and some factory-outlet for designer-jeans next door, as well as a food-court with a coffee-shop. Starbucks wasn't Sam's favorite place but at least he'd get some decent coffee there – if he managed to slip in when Dean didn't notice. He'd never hear the end of the bitching if his brother knew Sam'd gotten coffee when he couldn't get one too.

For now, though, they parked in front of the pet-store and walked into the brightly-lit and surprisingly full place, at once scanning the aisles for the supplies they were here for.

Food, food, snacks and more food was the first impression Sam got. When some grumpy old woman shoved them out of the way, they started wandering through the place, looking for either collars or a sales-person. Both seemed of short supply.

"Dude" Dean shoved his shoulder and nodded towards a sign that said 'Dog-Supply and puppies'. "Think that's the right way. And no, you don't get a puppy, so don't even ask" he joked.

"Aw, scared I'd replace ya?" Sam shot back and grinned at the scowl it produced.

Behind the row of puppy-cages filled with cute, yiffing dogs, Sam spotted what he'd come for. Collars. Hundreds, if not thousands of collars, in every size, every color and every material. Dean stood in front of them, staring open-mouthed and Sam wasn't much better off, amazed at the sheer amount of designs for something as basic as a leather-belt with a ring to hook a leash on.

"That's… insane" he murmured and felt his brother nod next to him. "So, go on, pick one."

"Uh… yeah."

But nothing happened. Dean was still rooted to the spot and scanning the merchandize. Maybe they should go at it a bit more organized. "Ok, so. What material d'ya want?"

"Leather" came at once, and like a starting-signal, they both went in the direction of the leather that was easily recognizable in between the colorful stuff. Narrowing down the search helped, but there were still a lot of choices. Dean started to go for the studded, broad bands, while Sam looked at the less heavy collars.

"Can I help you?"

He swung around, a collar in his hand that was still attached to the hook it hung from, a long metal-bar locking it against the display like every other collar here. "Uh… I'm … my brother and I are looking for a leather-collar for… our dog," he replied to the perky, slightly overweight young woman in the 'Pet Paradise'-uniform who smiled brightly at him, trying not to be too obvious with her stare.

„Great" she piped, like selling a collar to them was the best thing that could've happened to her. Maybe it was." What kind are you looking for?"

Sam realized he was still fumbling with the collar in his hand and let it go. It banged against the metal-bar and he winced and grinned apologetically at the girl,"Not sure, really. My brother likes the studded ones, but…"

"Oh, they're great and cool, but they're pretty heavy and also a bit stiff. What kind of dog is it?"

"Big. Husky-mix" Sam lied again, keeping with his first lie which also made sense if anyone would look at his brother.

"Sam, hey, I think I got the one" Dean shouted from some way over "Dunno how to get it off, though"

The girl – Caroline, or Carolina, Sam couldn't really read the tag – looked over and blushed adorably when she spotted Dean. To her credit, she caught herself fast and smiled – a little more than necessary – and walked over, Sam trailing behind.

"Let me help ya, I got a key"

She opened the lock and the bar came off and Dean grabbed the collar he'd been admiring. It did look bad-ass, there was no doubt. It was broad and had studs and spikes and a big-ass leash-ring, and Sam couldn't help but grin. This collar was the equivalent of Dean's car.

When they finally left the store, they had a long leash as well as a good, solid collar, though not the studded one Dean had been swooning over. Caroline had convinced them – no, had convinced Dean – that a narrower one would make more sense with all the fur Dean had around his neck. And while Dean had gone to the freezer-section to buy some of the raw meat-stuff that was apparently the big hype these days when it came to feeding dogs, Sam had guiltily bought one more item which he kept hidden in his coat-pockets, already out of the package so his brother wouldn't notice.

"Gimme the keys, we'll stop next town with a moderately decent motel and try to get some sleep, get down to some research"

"Good idea. 'cept I'm driving"

"Dean, you've been awake more than me, as human and as wolf. And you're still hurting, I know that. C'mon, you can let me drive, get some shut-eye so we'll both be good for hitting the net and the phone."

"I'm fine, Sam. I'm gonna drive and I'm not gonna discuss that. Can't be far to the next motel anyway, right?"

"Man… you're such a stubborn bastard."

"Yupp. And proud of it."

And that was that.

* * *

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

_a/n: because it's Easter, you get a long chapter today. I couldn't decide where to break it up, and then I just didn't. Hope you like it, and Happy Easter y'all._

* * *

The bedbug-motel they found shortly after smelled of stale smoke even from the outside, and Dean could feel the itch he'd probably develop during sleep. Or maybe not, he didn't know how wolf-him would react to the disinfectant powder these cheap places used sometimes. Hopefully, he wouldn't shed his fur or something.

He was exhausted, inside and out, and he knew that Sam knew. Still, he couldn't have handled Sam driving, he needed to be behind the wheel, to be in control of _something_ right then, even if it was only of how fast they could make it to the next stop. Sam had kept huffing and sighing angrily for a while until he'd decided to take a nap out of spite.

Or maybe not spite, but Dean wouldn't put it past him.

With his own weary sight, Dean dropped onto the bed, which protested with a serious-sounding creak. He didn't even have the energy left to frown at the bed-frame, instead he stared at the far wall as if there was some magical text written in gold or blood or something. His ears were still ringing from the sounds of his car, the road and the wind against the windshield and he needed some time to come down.

Sam dropped into one of the ugly chairs and pulled out his laptop, and Dean kept wondering distantly how his brother still had that much brain-function left. He wouldn't have been able to even open the computer, much less type in a password.

After a while of drifting in the pleasant sphere of not-yet-asleep-but-not-quite-awake, Dean's bladder was calling for attention and he went to do his business. Standing in front of the toilet, dick in his hand and watching the mesmerizing stream of yellow liquid rush into the bowl, Dean couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to lift his leg to pee. Not that he would do that here, the bathroom was disgusting enough as it was, but still… He'd always thought the way dogs peed was pretty cool.

Did he do that? Had he really pissed against his car, like Sam had said? Probably, but he'd have to make up to her for that. Maybe get her a good wash-n-wax when he was back to normal. Not sparing the wheels, of course. He knew that one dog – or wolf, in this case – pissing against it meant every dog pissing against it, and that was just poison for his baby's tires.

Shaking off and washing his hands, he thought about coffee longingly. Maybe he'd take a beer instead, though, since his stomach was really opposed to caffeine.

When he got back into the second room, Sam had already cracked open a beer and held one out to Dean without even looking up from his screen.

"Any hints?"

Sam sighed deeply, took a sip of beer and scratched his hair. "Not so much, no. There's tons of stuff about werewolves, most of it we know. Then there's the crazy crap on the net with all these crazy teenagers swooning over the romantic side of a werewolf-" Dean snorted at that. Romantic. He'd fought with dogs and nearly fucked a stupid sighthound. Every teenager's emo-dream, right? "-and then there is the little tiny bit of stuff that is in Dad's journal."

Dean raised his eyebrows at that. "What? There isn't anything in the journal" he protested, but Sam just nodded.

"Yes. In the private part. Uh… about that hunt, when you killed the werewolf in… Wyoming?"

Ah, that section. Dean had avoided it as much as possible when he'd been trying to find a hint about what his dad was up to when he'd vanished into thin air. He looked into the latest entries, sure, but there hadn't been anything and anyway, John had only written very sparsely after both kids knew about the truth out there. "Oh. What's he written?" Dean reached to his duffel, searching the old book in between his socks. He remembered that hunt well, mostly because he'd killed his first corporeal creature then and because it had kinda sealed the deal on being a hunter for him.

Not because he'd enjoyed it. He hadn't. The wolf, one like he was, had attacked and he hadn't even thought about anything except survival then. But after, when the wolf had turned in death to the human he once had been, to the skinny kid, maybe twenty, no more, that he'd been working in the small cinema and who'd once let them slip in without paying when Sammy had wanted to watch this sea-movie so desperately he'd cried. After that he'd known. Known that he would never fit in society, into normal.

The guy had been awesome, but Dean had still felt nothing. Cean shot, but he'd looked so afraid, so fucking scared. And Dean… hadn't felt anything. Dad had come and slapped him on the back and told him he'd done well. And while that was a good thing to hear from Dad, because it had been such a rare treat, he'd still felt nothing. Not remorse, not elation. Not fear or anything that would ever be considered 'normal'. Not even when he'd taken in the sight and smell and sound of fresh human meat sizzling and popping and bubbling, Dean had just sat there, numb. Later, in the car, he'd listened to Sam bitch about something, had closed his eyes and tried to feel something, tried to have regret about taking a life.

Nothing had come, though.

"Not much" Sam spoke from the chair and Dean just sunk back, not bothering to get the journal anymore. "He just wrote something like 'Dean killed werewolf. Sam in car. Burned him. Clean shot'. Nothing at all helpful"

"Great. So, internet's a bust, journal too. We call Bobby?"

"Guess we have to. But… Dean, I'm … I don't know what to do." Dean looked at his brother then, took in the hang-dog expression and the weariness in his face "I mean, I know research, and I'm gonna research my fingers bloody, but… I don't know what to expect here. First time, you were in so much pain I thought you'd die. But then next time, you shifted from wolf to human without a sound, and yeah, I thought it would only hurt so much from one form to the other, for some reason, but…"

"Didn't hurt next time either. When I was me."

"Exactly. So… what kind of crap is that? You only hurt the first time? Or only the first time in the cycle?" Sam stared at him like Dean would know the answer to that.

"How the fuck should I know? Maybe because I was asleep? Wasn't it like that with Madison?"

Sam looked uncomfortable for a second, but not nearly enough for Dean to feel bad about mentioning her. "She shifted in her sleep, yes. But only in her sleep."

"Sure 'bout that? I mean, we didn't know her for long. Maybe she'd shifted while awake too?"

"Yeah" Sam ran his hands through his hair, stared at the computer with a vacant, far-away look in his eyes. He looked as exhausted as Dean felt.

"Look, I have no clue either. I don't even know why there are two types of werewolf, and why I didn't rip anyone's throat out when the other one did. We need some help with this. Bobby will get something, or he'll know someone who knows somethin'. He knows hunters all over the world."

His brother scrunched up his face, apparently not liking that idea. And hell, Dean didn't like it so much either. They didn't have the best track-record with other hunters; either they were dying while working with them or wanted to kill them for various reasons. A reputation was all well and fine, but theirs didn't make their lives any easier.

"Yeah. You call Bobby first, I'll check … more. On the net."

Dean just nodded and opened his phone, knowing that their friend would at least for once be awake. Before the call connected, Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"What?" he went over to check over Sam's shoulder, disconnecting the phone when he saw what was on the screen.

"Two dogs were killed yesterday. Strays. So, why ever you were fighting, at least you didn't infect any other creature."

It was a relief and a cold shower all at once. Sure, Dean had worried about that, but knowing that Sam had harbored the same worries and had kept them to himself made him feel uncomfortable. He didn't want Sam to keep anything concerning his … condition to himself, but he knew he had no control over that. One more thing that was out of his grasp

"Yeah, good. So no were-dogs out there. Cool" and feigning ignorance of the severity of that, Dean dialed again, pushing down the thought about killing while a wolf, no matter what it was. That couldn't be good. What if being a werewolf was like being a vampire, and killing something or in the vamp-case, drinking blood, would make the curse, the infection permanent?

He didn't want to stay like this. He didn't want to lose any more of the already slippery control on his life.

_"What now?"_ came from the phone and Dean grinned.

"Hi Bobby, you got anything on the werewolf-front" why bother with niceties, right?

A sigh. _"Nothing. I wish I could help ya, but I got nothing on those kind of wolves yet, and I'm not … I really can't help much right now."_

"Why? What's up? Something happened?"Sam peeked up from the computer and asked without words, getting a wordless answer from Dean to wait a second. He put him on speaker.

_"Nothing bad, in case you're worried"_ Dean was, and Bobby knew, so there was no use in talking about it _"But I had to skip town for a tad. Some FBI-guy's snooping around and Sheriff Mills hinted I sh'd better get an alibi for last month."_

"Last month?"

_"Poltergeist, someone 'pparently damaged some national building."_

Dean chuckled a bit before he sighed, scratching his head. If Bobby wasn't at his library…

_"But, there is a hunter I know, specialist in werewolf-stuff. You could call her, if ya wanna get some real information. She knows more'n my books anyway"_

"She?"

_"Yes, 'she'. And 'she' will eat ya for breakfast, boy. So, wanna get her number and call, or are ya waiting for her to call you?"_

Dean motioned to Sam to give him pen and paper. "Spill" he jotted down the number. "Kay, thanks man.

_"I'll give her a call. She might shoot you otherwise"_ Silence for a minute, and Dean wasn't sure if the connection was broken or if Bobby had simply disconnected. He was a bit surprised when his friend spoke again _"How ya holdin' up, Dean?"_ with the gentle-gruff tone he knew so well. He swallowed painfully, nodded even though Bobby wouldn't see it, shifted his glance to Sam who was watching him and trying hard not to be obvious about it.

"Yeah, well." How would you answer that? 'Yeah, well, I'm feeling happy all day and nearly had sex? Killed off the competition'? Not really.

_"Sam there? Hand me over"_

He did and Sam switched back to private conversation, moving through the room with his freakishly long legs. Dean watched relief, anger, hope cross over Sam's face, much like it had done back in the good-ol'-days when all they'd had to worry about was going or not going to Hell. A knot twisted further in his guts when of all things it was hope that vanished from Sam. Because apparently, he'd been hoping that Bobby knew a cure that for some reason couldn't be told to Dean. Hope's stupid an irrational like that.

Sam, after two or three 'Uh-hus', left the room, probably bleeding his heart out where Dean wouldn't hear and couldn't mock.

With nothing else to do, Dean switched on his own laptop and tried to get some actual work done. And if he maybe got some more information on the dogs…well, that was just coincidence, wasn't it?

***

"What is it, Bobby?" Sam paced in front of the room, trying to ignore the guilty feeling he got for just walking out on Dean but at the same time needing some fucking space to breathe.

_"How ya holdin up, boy?"_

"Ah…" he exhaled noisily "-well. Let's just say that I am still upright. So, you got nothing, huh?"

_"Got heaps. But only on the ordinary weres. I never even met one o' the others, so I always thought the hunters who did were facing ord'nary skinwalkers."_

"Dad faced one. Or well… Dean did. Both did, I guess. Dean killed it. Him. Her? I don't even know. I was maybe thirteen then" He had to hold the phone away from his ear when Bobby hissed into the speaker.

_"Stubborn fucking Winchester. Dead for so long, and he still manages to piss on me all over. Stupid old cod, that man…"_ Bobby sighed and Sam could hear some furniture shifting, the creaking of a wooden chair maybe.

"I take it he never told ya?" Sam had to smile. Because sure, his dad had been annoying and stubborn and an ass, but he'd also been a man who left something behind, with every person he met. He'd saved people and affected their lives, and nobody who'd ever met him would forget John Winchester. Not that it was always a positive memory.

_"No shit he never tol' me! But to be fair, we never really got 'round to werewolves, so… anyway. I gave Dean the number of a friend. She's a bit …weird at times, but she'll be able to help."_

"Thanks, man" Sam answered, wearily scratching his stubbly chin. He'd not spent much time shaving, with all the fuss about wolves, Dean and other scary stuff.

_"Yah. Do me a favor, Sam. Get yourselves outta that mess in one piece, ok? I ain't envying ya" _

"I will." And he would. Bobby disconnected and Sam felt the world shrink to a pinpoint that had its center around his brother and that weighed more than he felt able to bear. The air seemed to waver and he needed… he needed…

Sam practically ran back into the room, not bothering to even look at Dean and made a straight line to the bathroom, threw the bolt and fell to his knees on front of the toilet.

He heaved, but nothing came up. Nothing at all, only the spit gathered in his mouth, making his eyes water and his breathing hitch.

With a shudder, he dropped on his ass and stared at the dirty yellow-white tiles in the corner, not really seeing the specks of lint and dark, curly, wiry hair that had accumulated there.

He hated feeling like this, like all his cards had been marked and he was playing a rigged game. Powerless to do what he wanted, not even fucking knowing what it was he wanted - needed to do. A new face, another hunter. They were already on the shit-list of so many people, only the bond to Bobby saving them from more violent encounters than the ones from Gordon, Roy and Walt. Which were enough of a hint that they weren't really welcome in the big ol' network of Hunters-R-Us. He trusted Bobby like he trusted Dean, sometimes even more. He was their friend, had stuck with them through all the crap and was still able to smile at them – and most importantly, Sam knew Bobby would never let Dean down. Never.

So why did it feel like someone had tugged the rug away from under his feet? Why was he sitting on the cold floor, staring at pubic hair? Bobby wouldn't send them to a hunter whom he didn't trust, right?

Then again, even the old man couldn't know everything, and who's to say that his friend didn't have her own reasons to hate Sam and Dean, probably even good ones. Who's to say they weren't walking into a trap, or into a situation where the hunter-friend told them that the only cure would be a silver bullet, and she'd not even wait for them to react, just shoot Dean.

Cold sweat gathered in his neck.

It was stupid, dangerous and anything but normal, to cling that hard to your brother. Sam knew that, but he couldn't change it. He'd seen Dean die over and over in Florida, had seen him get dragged to Hell and had witnessed him close to death more often than should be possible. You'd think you got used to it, wouldn't you?

But he hadn't yet. Just the opposite. Even thinking about losing himnow made him shake, made him feel like a lonely little boy waiting for his family to return from monster-hunting, praying that they'd both return and that it wouldn't be today that only one of them came back, crestfallen. What made it worse was that once again, Sam couldn't do anything. He was completely dependent on others, and he hated that. Had hated it all his life, and now, when the stakes were so high, he hated it even more. Putting so much trust in a stranger, putting his brother's life in someone else's hands was stupid, reckless and wrong.

But there was nothing else to do.

With a groan, Sam raised himself to his feet and washed his hands and face.

"Right. Let's see what we can do about this" he pep-talked his reflection in the mirror. Failing was not an option. Reluctantly but determined, he went back out, where Dean lay on the bed with the laptop on his legs, forehead scrunched up and biting his tongue. It made Sam flash back to years and years of Dean next to their dad, trying to see the pattern John had already found, or maybe looking for his own pattern. Usually, Sam had been buried in his own work, research or homework or a book, but whenever he'd looked up on those occasions, Dean had been there, looking exactly like he did now.

A well of fondness, a feeling of home washed over Sam. It felt safe and relaxed, calmed him like nothing ever could in his life.

With a small, private smile, Sam sat down himself and went back to his computer, this time typing _wolf (canis lupus)_ into the google-search-bar. If werewolves were hard to figure out, he'd take what he could get from the two parts a werewolf was made of.

.  
About an hour later, Sam shook out his hair which had been scratched, pulled and scruffed-up during his research and un-cricked his neck. Dean was still engrossed in something and Sam hoped it was actually helpful. He stood to get one more cup of disgusting coffee and then coughed to get his brother's attention.

"So, what'cha got?" A sigh, a scratch, some shifting and finally Dean looked up.

"Whole buncha nothing. I made a list what might and what might not happen, from all the crap that's in those stupid movies and TV-shows. But most of it's probably a bust" except they couldn't take a chance, Sam added internally. He agreed, but there might still be something they could use.

"Something good?"

"Pffffft. Well, either I shift every night in the week before full moon – that's what happens with the normal werewolves, right?" Sam nodded "Or I can shift whenever I want to. I'm not sure I wanna try that, but maybe Bobby's friend can help us there. Uh, I left out all that crap about mating" Sam grinned, seeing his brother's raised eyebrows and slightly disgusted face "and well, either I have superior strength now, or I can smell like a wolf," Sam frowned and Dean flipped him off, continuing without breaking his stride "or I can hear like one – No, I can't, I tried already – Or I'm 'specially big as a wolf, or well, superior strength again or – maybe and – I have the human smarts"

"Which means none?"

"Ha-ha" Dean frowned at Sam and shook his head. "Funny, Sam. Anyway, I don't know about smart or not. Don't remember a thing. Ya think I acted human?"

Sam thought about that, then shook his head "There were elements from your human side, I guess. You didn't freak out in a room, you didn't crap on the carpet. You liked pizza, but I guess those last two could be from the wolf, since they never soil the lair, and anything that breathes likes pizza. Well, you didn't kill me, which … hm. Yeah, I guess that's from your human part. You didn't ever see me as a threat, I never had to … like _tame_ you and you followed my lead without question. Let me pet you" he grinned at Dean's horrified face "and I guess that's from both parts, from wolf and human. I guess it's 'cause I was there when you shifted and I was familiar – family, actually. Wolves are very pack-oriented, after all. So if I'm pack, and you can scent me and your wolf-brain knew I was me and nothing bad-" he trailed off, remembering the first terrifying night that his brother had shifted into an animal.

"Sam?"

"Huh -there's definitely something from your human mind. You knew the gun. You shied away from it; you recognized it as a threat while you didn't think me a danger even when I was the one holding it. I guess you're way too savvy in these ordinary things to be pure wolf. You didn't freak out over the cars, you didn't attack anything – "

"Apart from dogs"

" – … Yes. Ok. But I'd say they had it coming. What stupid dog gets into a fight with a wolf?" Sam defended Dean's actions. He knew his brother wouldn't let it go, even if he stopped talking about it, but apart from trying to make sure Dean didn't heap even more guilt on his shoulders, he really believed that it had been self-defense. There was no proof, but the fact that the pizza-girl had told him about stray dogs, the dog in heat and the fact that Dean was covered in bites that were still bringing themselves to attention whenever his brother moved wrong made for a lot of circumstantial evidence. "And I never tested your strength" sure didn't want to either, ordinary strength-wolves were bad enough, "I dunno, but you sure ain't small."

Dean moved to sit on the side of the bed, one leg up on the mattress, one foot on the floor. "How do I look like?" he asked without meeting Sam's eye.

"Uh… grey. Black. Grey-black? Blackish-grey? Dark. Big. About this high" he indicated his mid-thigh and Dean had to look "and … uh, wolfish. I can take a picture, if you want?"

"Uh… yeah, I guess that'd be cool" Dean scratched the back of his neck and smiled a little and Sam couldn't help but like that sight. There wasn't much fun in losing your mind every night, he imagined, and if seeing that part of himself would give Dean some understanding, some connection with the wolf, he could give him that much. And Dean was a formidable wolf, there was no question about it. "So, basically I'm a wolf with some odd knowledge of human things? That's not too bad, is it?"

"Not… per se. But considering that you didn't listen when I called you, after you ran away, we still need to … well, kinda control you. I can't… you're a wolf. I can't teach you 'sit' and stuff like that. Wolves aren't dogs. They're independent, and they break apart and go crazy when you take them out of the wild and into a house." Or a car, for that matter.

"Don't you dare teach me 'sit', or I swear I'll kick your ass – in human form, all by myself, Sam!" Dean growled and Sam grinned a bit.

"So, did you call Bobby's friend?"

"Nah. He wanted to talk to her first. Guess I'll call her later. Now, how about food?"

"Food? Well, we bought the stuff for dogs, di'n't we? We agreed it'd be the right food, easily digested so you don't get sick all the time and no bones, so you don't uh, puncture your stomach when shifting" _or worse crap that could occur, which I'm not even thinking about._ Dean stared at him. "What? It's what we agreed on! I know it looks … not nice, but it's good for wolf-you and it won't hurt you-you, so what…"

"It looks disgusting, but Sam, I was talking about now. I'm hungry. I want something to eat. Something I can actually keep down that's not ice-cream or milkshake. I want a steak!"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. I guess steak and French-fries are ok. Anyway, as long as you don't eat onions, I guess human food will be fine" Sam didn't mention stuff like grapes, raisins and so on, which were poisonous for dogs and probably for wolves as well, since the weren't on Dean's list of awesome food anyway. He'd just have to make sure he was out of the car when Dean discovered that chocolate was really dangerous and would have to be banned, like the coffee.

"Awesome. Steak, here I come!"

But maybe the situation would be solved before Dean felt the need for M&Ms.

* * *

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

_a/n: Me again, late again, sorry. Longer chapter as apology.  
a/n2: Someone mentioned a logic-glitch, so I changed some part in this chapter. If you see this the second time (I don't know how this works), don't be confused._

_Thanks a ton, Beth!  
_

* * *

Back at the room, after Dean had proved to Sam that no, he didn't have superior strength by shoving and being shoved back, getting a proper talking to from the old lady who he'd stumbled into from Sam's freakishly long arms, they settled down to call Alyssa O'Toole, Bobby's friend.

The call was short. The woman was abrupt, telling them in her rough voice to be at her place soon as they could make it and that better be before the full moon. Sam jotted down the address and direction and before he could thank her, she'd disconnected.

Dean raised his eyebrows, Sam simply shrugged. "She's a real sweetheart, don't cha think, Sam?"

"I don't care if she's a bitch as long as she can help" Sam threw back, clearly pissed off about something. What, Dean couldn't tell. Wasn't the first time, and usually, it ran its course, so he lay back and tried to find some comfortable position.

His brother, though, wouldn't have any of it. "We can't take the time, Dean. We need to get to Backwood Creek soon as we can, so let's move it"

"Sam. We're here to sleep. Remember? That thing where you close your eyes and shut your freaky brain off? I'm tired as fuck, and I need to sleep"

"You can sleep in the car."

"You're tired as fuck too, Sam, and don't think I don't know. Look, let's sleep for a few hours. We set the alarm and take off early tonight, before mid…" he trailed off when he noticed Sam's stony expression. "What?"

"Dean, you'll shift. I don't want you to shift in the car! It's kinda amazing that you didn't freak in a motel-room, but a moving car? Are you really that crazy? Did you really forget that little glitch?"

"No … no. I just..:"

"You just didn't think it through. Awesome. You can't just ignore it! You can't just… just … you're not normal anymore-"

"Stop preaching, Sam!" Dean snarled back, sitting up and leaving the bed to reduce the height-advantage Sam had on him to at least a comfortable level. "What the hell is your problem? I'm the one who's losing his mind every night, and yeah, so I forgot for a minute! I've not forgotten any freaking second these last days. Hell, it's not like I'd go out to pick up a girl or anything! So sorry for raining on your parade, darling" He glared at Sam, trying to mask the feeling of despair that was spreading in his guts. Fuck, he'd just gotten used to feeling some lightness, after all the angel-war-apocalypse-Sam's-turning-evil-D

ad-disappearing-crap of the last years. He was so damn tired, and he wanted it all gone. Everything. He wanted to sleep and wake up like he was before. Simple, if not actually safe or anything. But simple.

"Dean…"

"Shut up, Sam. Just… shut up". And he slipped past his brother and out the door, not bothering to turn around. Before Sam could say anything, he growled over his shoulder "Don't worry, I'll be back before the sun is down".

Dean was back two hours later, silent and broody, and Sam did not secretly sniff at him to find out if he'd drunken alcohol. It was a close call, but he managed to stop himself. Without a word, Dean held up the plastic-bags from the pet-store that had been in the car still and took out the collar, staring at it and the leash with disgust.

Sam watched as his older brother put the leather around his neck and only because he was feeling guilty for his outburst before did he watch him close enough to catch the tremor in his fingers, saw the shudder that ran over his spine. Still, Dean had slung the collar over his neck and tried to close the buckle. It didn't seem to work right, though, and from where Sam was standing, it looked like his hands were trembling.

"Wait" Sam said and went over, standing right behind him "not too much. You've got a big mane, so don't pull it too tight". He grabbed his shoulder and turned the leather so the buckle was on the back, and Dean literally jumped away.

"Dean?"

"Uh… yeah…" Dean grinned manically, fingers working against each other, hands smoothing over the cloth of his jeans. Over and over and over and over. He didn't meet his brother's eyes, was skittish and when Sam took a step closer to calm him down, hands spread wide, Dean shifted backwards until his legs hit the bed, then sideways. Away from Sam.

"Dean? You ok?"

"Yes, yes. Fine, I'm fine, Sam. Uh, just startled me. Dude. I get it, I'll … I'll do it, but th-thanks."

He hurried to the bathroom, never leaving his back to Sam and peeking up every two steps as if he was reassuring himself that his brother was still where he left him. And really, who could blame him? If he'd ever been into collars and such, Hell had certainly put a damper to that.

Sam bit his lip. He should've thought about that before acting and shaking his brother so much that he was hiding himself away, probably trying hard to not completely lose it.

A clang and a "Shit" from the bathroom made him look up.

"Dean?"

"Uh…"

Sam stepped to the open door. He'd not followed, knowing he wasn't strictly banned but feeling the need to give his brother some space. Now, though, help was needed, not space.

Dean stood in front of the mirror, head hung in shame or maybe resignation, the collar in a tight grip. There was a chip missing in the sink, probably from where the heavy buckle had hit the cheap porcelain when the collar had either slipped or had been thrown. Dean's shoulders were trembling slightly. Just a little, but Sam knew his brother's movements better than his own, and he could see it.

"Let me help, ok?" he asked, deliberately speaking low, staying outside the door to leave room for escape.

His brother didn't look up but held out the hand with the leather-band. Carefully, Sam slipped behind him and placed the ugly black thing around his neck. When the leather touched skin, Dean froze and Sam stopped moving, didn't do anything but watch in the mirror the man he'd known all his life, in one form or another, eyes screwed shut and gripping the counter so hard that his knuckles were bone- white.

With a dry tongue, Sam started to whisper "Hey, it's ok. I'll be… I just pull the leather through here, not too tight. Uhm, don't… it'll be a bit cold, I guess, when the metal goes on the skin…" just babbling along to make sure his brother knew who was behind him, knew he wasn't Down There.

Slowly, Dean unfroze and bent his neck so Sam could work easier with the buckle. The leather was stiff, even though they had invested in the more expensive, doubly padded collar instead of the cheaper single-layer leather.

When Sam looked up into the mirror, he was stunned: his hard-backed, cocky, never-back-down brother had bent his head forward, baring his neck to Sam, whose larger frame was nearly looming over him, making Dean look oddly small and vulnerable. Up close, the fine sheen of sweat on his neck and forehead was visible and the smell of fear was heavy enough to fill Sam's senses, the shallow breaths shaky and hitched while Sam was as calm as he could be, breathing in Dean's terror and trying hard to give some of his own calm to him. The skin under his hands was slick with sweat and cold to the touch.

It was an odd sight and situation. It showed so much more trust to him than any outsider would ever see. They'd never get how much it meant for Dean to wear a collar, even if it was put on voluntarily, and couldn't ever understand how much baring his neck like this took out of his brother.

But Sam knew. He knew that Dean hated this more than any normal person would, knew the silent, downplayed suffering in front of him equaled a freak-out of epic proportions to any sane, normal person. Anyone but Dean.

Sam knew the signs because he'd seen it on him more than once. Not just this last year, but ever since he'd returned from Hell. Sam'd long ago chosen to ignore it, to not vocalize his concern. Not by choice but by not getting any response. He couldn't do more than offer to listen whenever Dean wanted to talk, and he had to force himself to not keep digging.

He wasn't one to throw stones, since he had his own problems. He might not really remember The Cage, but there were flashes, memories of memories, like déjà-vu but even more indistinct, even less clear. They came when he stood too close to the fire from a salt-and-burn, smelled charred bacon or, strangely, when he heard a baby cry.

He'd seen that Dean went slightly pale whenever he was restrained, and Sam had the same issues. But that, the two of them could handle, could live with, could work through. Mostly because they had to. Apparently, a collar was too close to unbearable for his brother, though, and Sam hoped this wouldn't turn into a regular thing. Dean staying a wolf was just not an option.

He slipped the last piece of leather into the flap and only now noticed that his throat was parched and his voice rough. He coughed and smiled into the mirror, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

"That's it"

Seeing Dean look up, noticing the heavy swallow and watching the leather move with the adams-apple, a sudden burst of power and strength deep in his bones rushed over Sam, not unlike the demon-blood had felt, exhilarating and oh-so-wicked.

As fast as it had come, Sam shoved it back down, not allowing it more than a brief flash. This felt wrong, so wrong, and yet it was sweet and tantalizing. Like some invisible balance had shifted, some weight put on him that was his to use, to form and to control. But also to protect, and that feeling of protectiveness was what he held on to, what felt safe, not tainted like when he'd been with Ruby. Dean was in his hands. Without him, the wolf would be lost, and with it Dean. That was… a heady thrill, terrifying. Sam'd already experienced what it felt like to lose the wolf, the terror and fear, and he'd witnessed his brother die over and over and still wasn't used to the feeling of loss it brought. He wouldn't let it happen again.

He'd put a collar on him and he'd buckle a leash to the collar and he'd use the freaking muzzle he'd purchased if it meant that Dean would be safe, even if he hated the idea and feared his brother's hatred for doing it. It was a familiar feeling, dangerous even, but the basics of the year after Dean'd returned from Hell stayed the same: He would protect his family however necessary, even if it meant to cause some discomfort. He'd just be smarter about it and trust his instincts, not that of some Hell-bitch with pretty brown eyes.

Sam straightened and took a step away from his brother, coughing and turning back to the other room, to the computer. "Ok. You're gonna be fine. Nothing to worry about."

He could hear Dean swallow, the slight _click_of his throat.

"Yeah" the answer was rough, was trying for normal and damn it all, Sam would let it go. "So, uh, I think we should wait for me to turn and then you'll … uh, get me in the car?" Sam turned when the voice was closer than the bathroom, seeing Dean had sat down on one of the beds and taken off his shoes "Think I'll follow? Or use the leash?"

Sam smiled but wasn't sure. He was pretty certain that his brother would follow him wherever he went, no matter what form, but how much Dean was there in wolf? He eyed the leash and shrugged. "I think it's better to be safe than sorry, right?"

Dean nodded, crawled back on the lumpy mattress, moved until he'd found a comfortable spot and closed his eyes. It didn't take long until his breathing evened out, and Sam decided that he'd read enough about wolves for today, even though it was interesting and they bore enough resemblance to his brother to be remarkable. He went over to his own bed, set the alarm to an hour before midnight and lay back, trying to relax.

He was nearly under when he heard a silent groan from Dean, not really unexpected.

Ironically, Dean's nightmares came out to play and wreck havoc most when there was nothing to hunt, nothing to do, no recent horror to get over. Free-time should be used for relaxation, not for waking up shivering and sweat-soaked and sometimes needing to be rescued by your brother from some hard-clinging scene in your head that had you moaning in pain and fear.

Sam knew from personal experience, though, that the dreams didn't care about the word 'holiday' all that much. His own nightmares weren't as clear as Dean's, or so he assumed. More shadows and hidden memories of bad things, but that didn't mean they were less disturbing. Maybe even more so.

There was some shuffling, some hitched breaths and broken-off moans and Sam waited for it to get worse. It sometimes did, causing Dean to shake and groan and sigh in pain, which was when he needed to be woken up or it would get really nasty. Sam'd figured that out from trial and error, because it'd be easier to carry the Impala than to make the stubborn jerk talk about his nightmares.

Weirdly enough, he had no problems to talk about Sam's nightmares.

It had taken some time for Sam to realize that Dean wasn't trying to shove his issues away – not more than usual at least – but that he saw their experiences as completely different and the results should therefore be different as well.

They weren't; both had nightmares, flashbacks and bouts of unexplainable anger, followed by gut-wrenching sorrow, spiced up with manically good moods, and for some reason, the fact that both brothers should show the same symptoms pissed Dean off. Sometimes Sam thought that his brother was embarrassed about the lingering effects of Hell, that because he was there less time than Sam was in the Cage, he should've been over the crap already.

Once, Sam had tried talking about that, but he'd been shot down fast and hard and had come to the conclusion that torturing souls because he was too weak to hold on any longer was reason enough in Dean's head to have deserved Hell, no matter how good you might have started out.

For Dean, Sam's issues were a badge of honor, where his own were a sign of weakness and should've been gone a long time ago, no matter what anyone else said. When he'd once carefully asked if maybe their father had never been meant to break the seal, tentatively suggested that Alistair had lied and John'd never been given the choice, Dean had stared at him hard and long before leaving the room and staying away for two nights. Sam'd never asked again, or voiced any of his thoughts about Dad's time in Hell to his brother.

The shuffling on the next bed didn't get worse. Instead the breathing evened out again and piece by piece, Sam let himself relax again and finally fell asleep.

When the alarm from Sam's cell went off, Dean had already been awake for a while. Not really long, but long enough.

He'd woken from a nightmare, nothing new, just the same old stuff, but for a second after waking, in the space between dream and reality, he'd felt the leather at his neck and panicked. He'd been there, not just believed but _known_that he was in Hell, that he'd never left and the whole sordid story of over two years and angels and Lucifer was nothing but an exceptionally cruel mindfuck presented by Alistair.

It had taken minutes of slow, deliberate breaths to get the shivers back under control and stop the tears from falling, and although it was disgusting, the unusually heavy smell of stale cigarette-smoke, cheap detergent and lingering sweat that had the room reeking of years worth of neglect helped with finding his center and back to now. Sam hadn't woken for once, and he didn't seem to have his own nightmares today for which Dean was grateful. As much as his dreams freaked him out, his brother's made him want to hide under a rock and only come out when they had passed.

He never did, of course, but that didn't make it any easier to watch Sam stare wide-eyed into some unseen horror, stiff as a plank, and try to get him to wake up, all the while knowing that whatever his own experiences had taught him, they were nothing like what Sam was facing again in his dreams.

When Dean'd finally realized that this was reality and he was wearing the collar for a completely different reason than before, it was nearly time to wake up anyway and he'd grabbed the laptop to send an e-mail to Ben. The leather was itchy where it shifted against his neck when he moved, but he didn't want to take it off. Sure, it would be possible, they still had time enough, but he was trying to get used to it, hoping that his wolf-him would then accept it easier. Another reason was that wearing it already would soften the stiff material and warm the metal, and yes, there was the firm belief in facing his fears to overcome them. It wouldn't do any good to one day freeze and get the shakes just because some villain had the brilliant idea to give him a collar.

He'd just hit 'Send' when the cell peeped and Sam woke with a start. "Holy… Dean?"

"The one and only" he teased, closed the laptop and stood up. "Gonna skip the shower, not that my cute little necklace shrinks or somethin'"

"Fine with me, but brush your teeth. Doggy-breath's bad enough but combined with your own … whew," Sam bantered back, even though his heart didn't seem to be fully in it. "I'll get some coffee, there's still time till midnight."

Dean just nodded and went to the bathroom, trying hard to ignore his image in the mirror. It was awkward and in the end, he just bit the bullet and looked.

The leather was a bit rough still, and the collar hung loose around his neck. It was too tight to get it up over his head, but there was room enough to put his whole hand through the loop, and it didn't restrict him in any way. The metal had warmed during sleep and if it wouldn't rub against his skin on the back of his neck, he might've even been able to ignore it completely.

And it didn' look too bad, a bit kinky, maybe. It was just the dog-look he couldn't ignore.

_"Good boy, Dean, come here, I'll show you something"_

When Dean'd first heard Bobby call his dogs 'Good boys' in the same voice his dad would praise Dean, a world had shattered. He'd been young and stupid then, teenage-hormones wracking havoc with his brain. For a while, he'd nearly cried at night, woken from dreams where his dad just left him at a shelter or dropped him off with someone to train him. He'd been terrified to be left alone, so much so that he'd been willing to leave Sammy just so his father wouldn't be able to skip on him.

Oh, he'd gotten over that stupid idea fast. Faster than he'd liked, really, because the pure terror in Dad's eyes when Dean'd been taken and had nearly died for the first time, the relief and love that shone in them when he'd gotten him back, the power of the hug he'd given Dean when he was safe had told him more than any words ever could.

He'd taken the punishment gladly, knowing deep in his heart that his dad wouldn't bother if he really thought of him like as a dog. But it had still been close enough to the surface to come back up and bury him in despair when he'd realized his father finally had abandoned him, had left him alone.

Years later, after he'd given in, Alistair had used the same sentence, the same voice-coloring to praise him on a particularly well-carved piece of soul, but there hadn't been any affection in it. Only insult and degradation, usually followed by a tug on his chain to get him back to his Master's heels.

"Good boy my ass" he muttered to his reflection, baring his teeth until it reminded him too much of a snarling dog. "Wolf, not dog" he whispered "wolf. It's not the same…"

Before he could get even crazier and started to talk with his toothbrush or something, he heard Sam come back in and he smelled the coffee-aroma wafting in with him.

Coffee tasted horrible with toothpaste, so he just rinsed his mouth and grinned at himself. Sam would have to deal with his breath, he decided.

.  
Sam would have to deal with a lot more than just breath, Dean knew a few minutes later. There was just no way wolf-him wouldn't be cranky after so long without coffee, and foamy milk with chocolate-syrup and a hint of espresso was no substitute, no matter how nice the thought and how admittedly tasty the crap was.

So yeah, he'd drunk it and tried to ignore the delicious, mouth-watering smell from Sam's cup. Why'd his brother have to get the really good stuff, now of all times? Usually Sam went for cheap and fast, just like Dean, and left the girly stuff for special occasions. Now though the scent suggested that the coffee was of a good brand, strong and heady and …

Sighing, he took another sip of his milky drink, trying to pretend he enjoyed it. Because even though he'd bitched at Sam for quite some time, and would probably continue to do so while his …condition was as it was, it felt kinda good that Sam remembered this stuff and was thinking about his health. It was a bit cute, even, so yeah.

Milk wasn't terribly healthy for canines, Dean'd read yesterday, but that shouldn't be much of a problem. Because he wouldn't stay a wolf, so there.

"Now what? We sit here and wait until I turn?"

"Uh…yeah?" Sam answered, a frown on his face. "You got a better idea?"

He didn't, so he sighed and leaned back against the squeaky chair, drumming his fingers on the horribly green table-top. "How long till midnight?"

"'Bout fifty minutes"

"Hm"

More drumming, some hidden glances from Sam, some covert glances from Dean.

"Anything on TV?"

"It's broken, I checked while you were talking to Bobby."

"Oh."

"How about some poker?"

A relieved sigh from Sam and a nearly happy smile and Dean got the cards while Sam grabbed the stash of candy that was their usual poker-stake whenever they didn't have enough coins to play for money.

A few hands in, Dean had forgotten about midnight and was so concentrated on his cards that he didn't notice Sam's uncomfortable stare until his brother coughed into his hand.

"What?"

"Uh… It's kinda nearly midnight. And… you maybe should… uh…"

"What? I should what? Hey, I don't know what happens, so gimme a clue here, Sam! Only thing I remember was that it hurt like a bitch, and that was the first time."

Did he imagine Sam flushing red? "Maybe you should … undress?"

"Un…what?" Dean growled, because there wasn't much modesty left between them, growing up and sticking as close together as they had, but they didn't ask the other to undress as long as there was no injury to sew shut.

Sam answered fast and low, not really looking up, moving around the ugly room to not meet his eye. "You rip apart your clothes when you're a wolf and we don't have that many and there won't be time to buy more and I dunno I thought you would maybe wanna save the clothes you still have and there is …" he trailed off and Dean huffed, annoyed.

Yeah, Sam was right about that. Whenever he woke up after turning back, he was naked and even though he'd never consciously thought about his clothes, it made a lot of sense to take them off before turning. Just as it'd made a lot of sense to put the collar on while human.

He didn't like it, though, not one bit.

Grumbling insults to some unknown power that was at fault for this situation, Dean went into the bathroom and undressed, wearing only a bath-towel when he came back into the room.

Sam was sitting like a puddle of misery on his bed, staring at the puke-brown floor and Dean's anger melted away. Wasn't Sam's fault.

"Nothing you haven't seen, Sammy" he grinned and flopped on the bed, trying for levity and stuffing every bit of discomfort deep into his mind, closing the door after it and eating the key. This was just him relaxing on the bed after a shower, nothing worse. Just him, wearing a tiny towel like he'd done millions of times in front of Sam, not even the most exhibitionistic pose Sam'd ever seen him in. The leather-band on his neck shouldn't make much of a difference, but it did, Hell, it did. "If someone comes in, he's gonna believe he stepped into some weird kinky sex-scene" he joked, feeling anything but funny, but Sam smiled a little and he relaxed.

"You wish" his brother said and shuffled back so he was with his back against the headboard, legs spread out in front of him. "I was thinking… you didn't seem to have so much of a problem shifting when you were asleep. So maybe… maybe you hurt so much the first time because you were fighting it? You were fighting it, right?"

Dean frowned, thinking back to the little wooded area, only two nights ago. "Sure I was" he confirmed. "So, you think I should just… relax? Or what?"

"I… I don't know" Sam deflated. "I just don't really… Maybe?"

It sounded reasonable and Dean tried to find a comfortable position on the bed, covered himself a bit more with the thin, scratchy, horribly smelly blanket – man, did this room reek! – and told himself he did it only because it was a bit chilly.

_Relax, relax, relax…_ he told himself, cramping his hands into the blanket in the effort to do so. _Relax, relax, !_

"Dean."

"What?" he grit out, knowing he was making an ass of himself but couldn't…

"…_so close, no matter how far…_" Sam started, and Dean huffed out a laugh, losing some tension in his body. He started to hum with his brother, both absolutely off-key. Sam more often than not didn't know the text and simply hummed. It didn't matter how horribly they sounded, it worked.

Until a cramp in his calf had Dean upright in bed. "Holy fuck!" Before he could jump on his toes to make it go away, his fingers cramped as well and his toes followed suit. His spine seemed to want to crawl out of his back and he moaned, not even able to make an effort to hold it down. He could hear Sam shouting something, felt his hands on his skin.

"Don't fight it, Dean! Relax, I got ya. Don't fight it."

"M not" he groaned, his voice shot to hell already. He howled in pain when some ligaments shifted, elongated and others shortened. Still, Sam's hand on him, his voice in his ears did make it easier, or maybe his body had practice. He let himself sink into the mattress and tried to think of nothing. This wasn't even half as bad as Hell, and he wouldn't have to face it for long.

_Relaxrelaxrelax_he told himself, hearing every breath Sam took as loud as a tornado and the sound of the cars from the highway like he was standing next to it. The room didn't just reek anymore, it was drilling spikes of painful scents into his nose and right up to his brain. He heard himself howl again and tried to let his mind step away, observe the sensations for the sake of remembering them later.

When he could smell Sam's tears, he was already four-legged and panting in exertion.

* * *

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

_Here I am. I want to thank my reviewers who I couldn't reply to directly for letting me know that they are there and they like my stuff :-) I can assure you, it doesn't matter WHEN you tell me you're there, but it sure makes me happy to see you. Have fun with the next chapter.  
_

* * *

It took a lot less time for Dean to shift than the first night, though probably longer than the night Dean'd been sleeping.

Sam had held on to his brother, gripping him tight and tried to block out the terror that welled up when he heard him moan, groan, cry and freaking howl in pain. It had looked just as horrible as it had the first time, the shifting muscles, the changing bones, the fur, the by now claw-like fingers, the tail. But even though it must have hurt terribly, it had gone much smoother than before, the shifts and breaks and tears of ligaments looking more like ripples in a pond than the violent cracks and waves of the first transformation.

When his brother's body had developed fur, Sam'd backed away, not sure if the wolf would recognize him or if it would be mad with pain. He'd not passed out, after all, and being aware and an animal in a strange room with pain coursing through your body was a great reason to be a tad cranky towards the nearest target.

Sam really didn't want to be the nearest target; he'd seen the jaws and teeth up close whenever Dean had yawned.

Now, his human older brother was once again an animal, the fur still scruffed from the writhing, and he was whimpering silently, eyes cloudy and far away. Apparently the shifting wasn't painful as long as Dean wasn't aware – be it asleep or unconscious. Maybe he'd knock his brother out next time… No, he shook his head. There wouldn't be a next time! He'd make sure. Then again, if the woman didn't have a cure? It never paid off to bet all you had on one number, and so maybe he would have to witness another change, so he might have to think about something to make it easier. That kind of horror was hard to watch, and leaving Dean alone to spare himself the agonizing watch wasn't an option, would never be an option. He owed him much more than this, and one day, he knew, he might owe Dean the final bullet to the heart.

And even if it broke him, he would do it. Except how he wouldn't need to, because they'd damn well get out of this situation!

"Hey Dean. You ok?"

The wolf raised his head slightly, but couldn't hold it up. It sagged back and a long huff and hard exhale told Sam that though the body was still hurting, it would be all right later.

"Thirsty?"

The greenish-yellow eyes followed him to the bathroom, where Sam filled a plastic-container with water. He brought it over, held it under the wolf's nose and watched as he took a few tentative sips. The angle wasn't perfect for drinking, and Sam placed the bowl on the floor. "You can take more later, ok?"

The wolf didn't nod, but Sam still imagined that it would have. He stroked the softer fur at the side of the animal's neck, carefully checking if the collar was sitting right. It did. His brother, who usually hated touchy-feely-stuff, leaned into the caress and groaned happily, and for a few moments, Sam let both of them enjoy the comfort of touch. Dean wouldn't know anyway, and it seemed the wolf was much smarter than his human part.

The opportunity was perfect. As long as his grey-brother was still groggy and pliant, he could easily attach the leash to the collar. It'd make things a lot easier and would give Sam more control over the situation, and more control meant more safety.

He grabbed the leash that'd been placed next to the TV on the small table and returned, but as he neared, he realized that his assumptions had been wrong. This would not be easy.

The wolf had his ears back, flat against the scull, sharp teeth bared. Instead of being relaxed as before, he was poised and alert, eyes fixed on the leash and a low, warning growl rolled from his throat.

"Uh… Dean?" No reaction, except that the growl turned up in volume. "It's ok, we agreed, remember?" But the wolf had a different opinion, apparently.

Mixed into the deep rumble was now a snarl as the animal sucked in more breath. He was moving backwards, away from Sam, prepared to run but not to attack. Yet.

Sighing, Sam put the leash away.

At once, the snarling stopped and the wolf relaxed some, though the ears stayed tucked back and distrust in his eyes. It hurt to see that look on his brother, most of all because it was undeserved. "What now?" Sam asked and sat on his own bed. Dean didn't answer, of course, but it seemed he'd let go of some suspicion. He slinked down from the bed, shaking out his fur and drinking noisily from the bowl before exploring the room, leaving drips of water all over the place and a large wet puddle around the bowl. Dean as a wolf had even worse table-manners than Dean as a human, apparently.

He sneezed every now and then, probably from the dust that had gathered over at least three years of no vacuum-cleaner, and even though it wasn't the right time, Sam had to chuckle. He did so even more when the wolf turned to him and shot him an outraged glare. Really, how could something so obviously not his brother look at him in exactly the way Dean would? Maybe there was even more Dean in the animal than he'd thought.

"Don't get too comfortable. We'll be leaving as soon as we can. Uh… I just hope you can deal with being in a car" and hopefully, Dean would deal with the wolf-hair on the seats, not to mention the scratches in the leather that very probably couldn't be avoided.

Or maybe they could.

Because when Sam went out to pack the bags in the car, keeping track of his wolf-brother who strolled out of the room and happily peed against the doorframe, he spotted the large blankets Dean must have put on the seats when he'd been out earlier. It made Sam smile and feel even more guilty for accusing Dean of being thoughtless, of forgetting his werewolf-ness.

"So, let's get in the car" he said, hoping his brother would shine through enough in the wolf to just hop in. Sam opened the door to the backseat, clucked with his tongue to get Dean's attention and waited. Nothing happened, except Dean looking at him and Sam would swear he was frowning. "C'm on, man .We haven't got all night, and we really need to go. You weren't exactly silent" and even if this really was the most disgusting motel they'd stayed in, in Sam's entire life, there was the possibility somebody had called the police when he heard Dean's pained cries.

The wolf sat down, tongue lolling mockingly, otherwise not moving.

"Dean…" Sam pleaded. "Please?"

Nothing.

"C'm on, buddy. Hop in," he cheered.

Nothing.

"Hey, look! There is a cookie in the backseat" he cajoled, throwing cookies in the car.

Nothing.

"I'll give you coffee?"

Nothing.

"Dean"

A yawn.

"Dean! Get in the fucking car, or I swear I'll leave you here"

A twitch of the ear, but other than that: nothing.

Annoyed, Sam turned and went to the driver's door, not actually leaving his brother but trying to bluff the animal into believing that was exactly his goal. The moment he opened the door, though, Dean was off, slipping past Sam and jumping into the car faster than should be possible. With a happy sigh, the wolf settled on the passenger-seat and curled up, looking at Sam from the top of his hind legs where his snout was resting. He would swear that his brother was giving him an evil grin, even though he wasn't moving his lips.

"Fucker" Sam grumbled and closed the back door. "Could've just told me. Somehow."

***

The wolf loved the rumble of this _car_ moving den. It sounded like a growl, but a friendly one, and the scent of it was calming, making him feel sleepy and at home. The Sam was next to him, talking. He didn't really get everything, but it sounded comfortable, not strained or stressed. He'd be stressed as well if Sam were to be stressed and stress was bad. Might lead to shedding, and he had no clue why losing fur would be bad –except of course for the obvious reasons – but something niggled in his mind that he really, really didn't want to shed in this den.

The long thin leather _leash_ hadn't come out again, and Dean was ok with that. He hated that thing. He didn't know it, but he knew he hated it. It wasn't safe, it was dangerous, bad, ugly, even though Sam had held it. He knew that Sam wouldn't hurt him, but the leather-band was dangerous and he didn't trust it.

"Uh, careful" said his brother and before he could react in any way, the moving den slowed and he slipped down from the elevated, soft surface _seat_ and into the cave-like space beneath it. He growled and scrambled back up, sitting this time so he could look out of the _window_ opening-that-wasn't-open. More of those metal dens were in front of them, and lightning was flashing though it was the wrong color. _Accident_ came into his mind, but he didn't know that word and so he just huffed.

"Accident" the Sam said and the wolf huffed again. "Won't take long."

.

It was boring. So, so boring. Their moving den wasn't moving, the scenery outside was boring and dark and nothing was happening apart from his brother _pack_ holding a flat, smell-less object in front of him once in a while that made a lightning and blinded Dean. He growled at it and Sam laughed and the he put the lightning-maker away.

In the air, he could smell wildlife _rabbit, fox, coyote, bird_, but his brother _pack_ wouldn't let him out. Sam huffed then and again, or talked to the wolf, or tried to sneak the flat lightning-maker out again, but the flash didn't come anymore. The talking was nice, but usually Dean didn't understand much, and if he did, Sam didn't get his answer, so Sam stopped talking soon. Once, his brother had moved a little stone in the den and some awful, horrible sound had come from somewhere, loud and squeaky and badbadbadbad. Dean had at first tried to find the source and found it: some mesh close to the floor, where obviously the noisy things were hiding and making more noise. He'd growled at it and tried to tear the mesh away, but Sam had called him and moved the knob again and then there was quiet again.

And it was boring again.

"Dude, you'll never believe me when I tell ya that you didn't like ACDC"  
Dean just yawned and shook his fur. There was something on his neck, and he tried to scratch it, but the space in the den _car_ was too narrow. Twisting and turning, he tried to find a place to really scratch because it was a strange thing on him, and he wanted it gone.

"Dean, stop that" Sam grumbled but the wolf didn't listen. He jumped to the other soft surface _backseat_ and tried there. It was much better, and with a lot of gusto, he started to scratch.

And scratch.

And scratch.

"Dean, stop that. You'll gonna kill me when you turn back. You're shedding like crazy there" Sam had turned around, watching him, and the wolf didn't mind. If Sam wanted to, he could join him. Or help him get rid of the stupid thing around his neck. "Dean!"

Not even rubbing against every surface was enough, the stupid thing _collar_ wouldn't budge, it stayed and the wolf was going crazy, writhing against the floor, the _seat_, the not-opening, even against Sam, who was trying to get away.

"Dean, stop, Dean" but he was laughing, and really, that wasn't what Dean wanted. He wanted to get the thing off, not make Sam laugh, smile at him in a way that should make him think of bared teeth and a warning but instead made him see a wagging tail and a friendly play-face. His pack was so weird.

Something… He stopped. Stood stock-still and listened. Something was coming, he could hear it. Sam smiled at him again and now Dean could see the _human-danger-man-danger_ behind his brother. Sam didn't see it, didn't notice! He had to take action, before something happened – _again_, his mind told him though he didn't remember when that would've been. With a snarl and growl, he launched himself at the danger outside, past his pack's face and over his legs, scratching, clawing, trying to rip at the smooth, cold stuff that prevented him from going out of the opening. It was like ice, only clearer, and it didn't break, even as he put all his force into clawing, snapping and snarling at the face he'd seen.

A dull pain was cursing through Sam's thighs where his brother's considerable weight had rested and his long nails had dug into his jeans. The attack – or whatever you'd call that – had come out of nowhere, and for a split-second, Sam had been sure Dean would rip him apart. Only the startled scream from behind the window, coming from the shocked policeman who'd wanted to let them know they could pass had explained why Dean'd gone from scratching, funny-looking dog-lookalike to snarling, spitting fury.

It had shocked him more than he'd ever admit, the sudden change. He was glad that it wasn't directed at him, but … what if? What if for some reason, Dean turned violent, out of the blue? Every thought he'd ever secretly harbored about being able to deal with his brother staying a werewolf went out the window, because he couldn't imagine that he'd ever trust the wolf-form enough, not anymore.

Yes, he still believed that Dean wasn't dangerous, but would he ever be able to spot the change if it came? He'd not been aware that anything was different, hadn't even realized the policeman was behind him. Even if the wolf stayed normal, had the window been open, he'd ripped the man to shreds. The wolf wouldn't hesitate to kill and maim, not when it came to protecting his brother – similar to the human side of Dean, and still so much more dangerous.

They were driving on now, the road once again free and open. The sky was dark and blue around them, but it didn't bother Sam. They'd driven through the night more than once in their lives, and it made travelling easier. Backwood Creek was still miles away, but they'd probably be able to reach it in the early afternoon. He'd make sure they stopped before sunlight to let Dean shift back to human. Hopefully, it'd be less horrible than the other way round.

The wolf was sitting up the fifth time in seven minutes, wining and panting and filling the car with bad dog-breath that sadly didn't hide the fact he'd eaten a whole pound of ground meet and intestines from the pet-store. The stuff had smelled evil when fed, and it smelled horrific being breathed into his face.

Dean'd been restless for a while now and Sam was pretty sure that he needed either water or…well, the opposite. He wasn't sure what to do, though. If he opened the door, it was very much possible that Dean'd run and go hunting. It was too dangerous to even consider it, they were far away from cities and settlements, so probably nobody would be in danger of being killed or bitten by his brother. But that didn't mean there wasn't danger for Dean. The road was dark and twisty, a speeding car wouldn't be able to see the black wolf fast enough to break, if the driver would even think about stopping for a 'dog'.

No, he couldn't let Dean run free. But the previous attempt to leash him hadn't been exactly encouraging.

The wolf wined again, louder this time, and shifted on the seat. "I know, buddy" Sam agreed "I need to pee too."

Sighing, he stopped the car at the side of the road where a small turn-off led somewhere into the desert. He carefully took the leash from its resting-place between the driver's door and the seat, slipped it behind his back and around so it was hanging over the backrest. His arm slowly moved closer to Dean, like approaching the shoulder of a girlfriend-prospect in a dark cinema. His other hand was occupying Dean, distracting him – hopefully – with a cookie that he kept moving tantalizingly in front of the wolf's nose "You'll like that, huh? Think I'll give it to ya?" he taunted, but with a low voice, trying to keep the level of stress and excitement to a bare minimum. Sam ignored the waterfall of drool that was seeping into his jeans and on the dashboard or whatever other surface he was holding the cookie over.

His brother would love to find the sticky stuff in his baby.

The arm with the leash reached around Dean, the clip already opened in his hand. He stroked the fur with the other fingers, getting closer and closer to the collar and when he did, carefully moving it so the D-ring was on the right side.

Dean was still distracted by the cookie when he clipped the leash on. Sam exhaled softly, the long leather-strap just resting over the seat. One end was in his hand and he gave Dean the cookie, which was crunched up scarily fast.

"Ok, let's go"

Sam opened the driver's door and went out, relieved that Dean decided to follow him out on that side instead of demanding his own exit. He didn't want to be confined in the Impala when Dean found out he was leashed. The way the wolf had rubbed and scratched himself all over told him how much the animal part of Dean was in agreement with human-Dean concerning collars, but where his two-legged brother had been weary but resigned, the wolf had a lot less self-restraint.

The animal hopped out and stretched, first the front-legs dipping down until the chest nearly touched the ground, ass and tail up in the air, followed by the hind-legs stretched backwards until the toes cracked. Then, his brother opened his jaw and yawned so hard that Sam was worried the snout would crack open and the head would end up being inside-out. The teeth didn't look any less dangerous from this angle.

After shaking out his fur, Dean started to trot towards the next scrap of hard desert-grass that was fighting a never-ending battle against wind, sun and reckless drivers. Sam hurried along, but he couldn't prevent the leash tugging against the collar. Dean stopped and turned, glared at his brother who tried to smile sheepishly, but it was more of a painful grimace. The wolf lifted his lips and growled, spinning fast and trying to bite the leather that was attached to him, but Sam stepped to his left, lifting the leash away so the jaws snapped into the air.

That only fueled Dean's anger, and he snapped and snarled and crouched, trying to yank the leash out of Sam's hand with a sudden jump to the left, then to the right. He yowled in fury and Sam swallowed hard but still held onto the leash, prepared to do everything he could as long as Dean didn't try to bite him. He had no idea what he'd do if Dean were to attack. If he let go, his brother would run and might be lost to him, not wanting to come back, at least not in wolf-form. Out here in the desert, a naked man wouldn't have much chance to survive without serious damage. And if he fought him, taking the very real chance of getting bitten, he might either be seriously injured or would shift as well, and they still didn't know if infecting someone else would be a trigger to a permanent shift.

Not that he had much time to think about it, Dean was still fighting the leash with a fury that rivaled a hungry wendigo. It took all Sam had in him to jump away from and around the snarling wolf, anticipating his moves so the animal couldn't bite through the leash. He held it up, over Dean's head on his outstretched arm, ensuring there was always space between him and his brother.

Unexpectedly, the wolf changed tactic, dropped and writhed on the ground, trying to get the leash and collar off him, entangling himself in the leather-band more and more, no matter what moves Sam tried to prevent it from happening. It was stupid and showed more desperation than fury, more panic than thought-out plan. When the wolf had managed to tie one hind-leg and one front-leg together and strapped up against his belly, he lay on the ground, unmoving, ribcage heaving and tongue lolling into the sand. He whined a little, looking scared and full of betrayal up at Sam.

That a strong-willed animal like this would look so helpless was wrong, so, so wrong. Not to mention the undeserved guilt Sam was hit with when the accusing yellow eyes met his.

"Don't look at me like this" He crouched down next to his brother, gently unraveling the leash from his body "'Tis your own fault. We need this. You're… you're a wolf, and you wanna hunt, I know that, but you can't. I ... I… Dean, please…" Sam didn't know if the animal could understand him, but it was worth a try. If he understood or not, at least his brother didn't react even when he was free of his binds. Only when Sam stood, clapping a hand against his leg to get rid of the sand did Dean move to stand as well, still panting.

"Let's get down to business. We'll be in Backwood Creek tomorrow and we'll get rid of all this stuff. 'Kay?"

No response, but the wolf followed when Sam moved towards the bushes, soon overtaking him and tugging hard on the leash to get to his goal faster.

Sam stumbled behind him, more than once nearly falling over some dry wood or stepping into a ditch. For some reason, the animal didn't like the first twenty tufts of grass, sniffing them and moving on. After what felt like hours, Dean finally made the moves to indicate he was satisfied with this tuft to be his toilet and Sam turned his back to him, not wanting to know more about Dean crapping in the wilderness than he already did.

He let himself be pulled back to the car, and with no problem he got Dean to jump in.

.  
From there on, the drive went by without further interruptions. Dean had curled up on the backseat, snoring now and again and snuffling annoyed when the car hit a pothole or Sam took the curve too fast. Not that much different to human Dean, really.

It was still dark when Sam couldn't drive any further. There was no motel, as there hadn't been any town-like settlement at all that they'd passed, but there was a camp-ground indicated next to the road. They'd long since left the desert behind and entered elk-country, which meant rolling hills of grass and light pine-forests with lots of space between the thick tree-trunks and hard, persevering grass to munch on, if you were an elk.

Sam had paid close attention to the roadside, he always did when they were driving through deer-country ever since he'd been thirteen and his dad had hit a young buck head-on during the evening.

It had been one of those horrible car-crashes that could've wiped out his entire family – him included – and one of the most normal things to die from, in these parts of the USA. Sam hadn't been able to stop crying for two days, probably from the concussion he received when his head had collided with Dean's hard scull, which had been hanging back over the backrest. His brother had been slumped in the seat, sleeping or pretending to while Sam had argued with their dad about something really unimportant but enthralling to him. It had for once been a friendly argument, John had been in a great mood and had looked over at his son who'd bent forward to get closer, only sitting on the edge of the seat, weight on his legs.

The "Holy shit!" had been the last thing he'd remembered, together with the pure horror in his father's eyes before they hit something hard, a loud sound when the windshield cracked and then an even louder crack when the two boys' heads had clonked together.

They'd been lucky. Dad had only had a broken arm and some bruised ribs and the boys had magically suffered only whiplash, concussion and one wrenched knee for Dean and one broken wrist for Sam.

So, ever since that evening, Sam scanned the treeline whenever they drove through wooded areas, and he'd noted a few glowing white eyes in the distance of the forest, but never close enough to the road to worry about.

The campground could be called basic, if you were in a good mood. There was nothing but a few lots to park or pitch the tent in and a dirt-path led up into the woods, probably to the toilet if you chose to believe the sign that said so. Sam didn't bother to do anything but stop the engine and get two blankets from the trunk, wrapping himself in one and throwing the other over the backrest so Dean would find it in the morning. It'd be a crappy night, but he was tired enough to actually find some rest in the crouched position he had to stay in. 

* * *

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

_In time this time!_

* * *

This time, he was awake when Dean shifted, and he was amazed by the difference to the painful transformation before. Sam'd been slumbering a bit, trying to ignore the awkward angle of his neck, when he heard a soft groan from the backseat. Without any noise, he bent his head and watched.

The wolf groaned again, moved on his seat a bit and stretched his legs, and then the limbs grew, changed and formed themselves into legs and arms, his fur retreated into his body – how the hell did it do that? – and his body elongated and broadened itself back to a human.

The face looked ridiculous for a few seconds, before it was back to Dean's familiar features and when the shoulders popped back into the position they belonged, Dean snuffled a bit and let gravity move him to lie on his stomach instead of his side. The healing of his bruises and bite-marks had progressed much further than normal, and Sam was glad that the fast-healing was one thing that wasn't a myth about werewolves.

Sam grinned. As fascinating as it had been to see the quick, painless change, as funny was it to see his brother – who wasn't small by any means – squeezed onto the backseat, curled into himself but still not fitting. His legs touched the seatbacks and his bare ass must be touching the door, though Sam didn't have the urge to check.

Instead, he took a picture with his phone, saving it right along with the three of the wolf he'd taken during their wait at the accident-site before throwing the blanket over Dean, then trying to get back to sleep. For the first time since the initial bite, Sam felt like everything could be back to normal, like they would actually get through this drama with their minds intact and bodies in one piece.

***

Dean woke from the morning-light poking onto his eyelids. It was annoying enough to get his brain into gear, and warning enough to let his body stay still, just in case there was a not-so-harmless reason that there were no curtains to block out the sun.

His senses tried to pin a location on himself - _Impala, backseat, naked, cold_ - then Sam. _Outside, brushing teeth._ Dean tried to move from the horribly uncomfortable position, holding the scratchy blanket close to him as to not be exposed to the cool air, Sam, and any other person that might be close by.

When he finally unscrambled his legs and stood outside on his bare feet, a sharp stone digging into his sole which he tried to ignore, he realized that there wasn't much danger of being observed by strangers. Maybe a voyeuristic bird or deer, but no other human was close by.

"Hmpf" he grunted and got a disgustingly cheerful, toothpaste-y smile from his brother in return.

"Trunk" was all Sam said before looking back into the forest that was surrounding them, not commenting on Deans nakedness and sour mood.

After he'd put on jeans, t-shirt and button-down, his socks and boots and a canvas-jacket, he threw the collar into the depth of his car with disgust and he felt much better. The dull ache from his body was slowly dissipating, now that his muscles were getting warm, and his mood lifted when he was able to take in the silence of the campground. Or, well, not silence. There was sound all about, rustling mice and singing birds, shifting leaves of grass and the needles from the pines that fell from the mighty trees. He could smell clean air and sun-dried sand, and was that an elk that moved somewhere behind him? He could smell it not far off.

With a start, he realized that he shouldn't know what an elk smelled, much less actually scent it or know where and how far away it was. But he could.

One part of his mind said this was bad, cause for concern and worry and very much a thing his brother should know about, but the other side was just stunned by the sheer beauty of the place he was in, the life that was surrounding him and the possibility of roaming free, no care but trying to feed and fuck. It was freedom as it should be, and it exhilarated him and scared him shitless.

"How far till Backwood Creek?" he forced himself to ask, and Sam grunted back that they would reach it around noon. That was good, he could to hide his heightened sense of smell from Sam that long. Since it seemed that he might have gotten the ability to scent like a wolf but not the same love for rotten things, Dean brushed his teeth before urging Sam on, this time letting his brother drive just so he could enjoy the tantalizing odors of the world through his open window. He'd never realized how much asphalt disturbed the scent of nature, and how much it meant for him to smell it anyway.

.  
Two minutes past noon, they entered Backwood Creek, inhabitants 505 if you believed the rusty sign that greeted them in 'America's prettiest jerkwater-town'. Dean had to grin. "At least they have a sense of humor." Sam nodded and smiled and looked like a ton of tension had lifted from his shoulders the second they entered the town-limits.

"You got the address?"

"Yeah. Uh… here" Dean rummaged in his pockets until he found the scrunched-up paper where he'd written the instructions on "'Go to the city-hall and then left, straight ahead until you leave the town again, then straight for two miles and then go right, at the green mail-box. Don't let the bad road scare you'" he cited. "Looks like she really loves company"

"Maybe she does, but the company prefers to limit the actual meetings?" Sam grinned. Still, being the good boy-scout he was, he ordered Dean to call ahead, which resulted in a "grumpf" and "Don't expect food" from the woman.

.  
At a quarter to one, they arrived at an open wooden gate in midst of pine-trees and followed the drive up to a house which at least to Dean was a complete surprise.

It wasn't big, but pretty and well-kept, white wooden frame with a shingled roof and a chimney that was merrily puffing smoke into the sky. The garden was green and lush and full of colorful flowers, a big oak giving shade to the huge porch at the back of the house which they made out while driving up. It was like a distorted mirror-image of Bobby's ramshackle home and both of them had to stare at this beautiful place for a moment.

"Wow…" whispered Sam, and Dean could only nod.

Loud barking tore them out of their admiration, and five stocky, pointy-eared dogs scrambled out of the door that'd just opened. They were stocky, had short fur and looked like a maniac had tried to paint on them: light-blue or light orange – or both – in color, with white seen through here and there, red and black markings on the faces, ears and legs. They weren't large, smaller than a German Shepherd but for some reason Dean was sure that these dogs would put any Shepherd to shame.

"Boys! Back in here!" a rough voice called, and the dogs, which had stalked the Impala on stiff legs, hackles raised and teeth bared, stopped snarling and trotted back to the woman who had followed them out of the house. Sam gave a timid little wave and tried to smile, but like Dean he wouldn't take his eyes of the dogs.

"C'mon out then, if you must" the woman who probably was Alyssa O'Toole stepped closer to them and Dean noted the slight limp. Carefully, not trusting the calm that had returned after the dogs were inside – behind an open door, he noticed – Dean stepped out of the car. Sam was already moving towards their host with his hand outstretched and his happy smile bright on his face.

"Hi, I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean. Mrs O'Toole? I'm so grateful that…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Welcome, blablabla. Now, Robert said you have a werewolf-question that can't be answered on the phone. Out with it" Dean frowned over this harsh greeting. This was the specialist they were trusting with his… problem? She could've at least looked interested, since being happy would probably be creepy – and highly doubtful, the woman didn't look like she'd been happy in quite a while.

"Uh…" Sam was taken aback for a second. "What did Bobby tell ya?"

"Furry Werewolf, and you're interested in knowing more 'bout them. Isn't that right?" for a second she frowned and looked less sure of herself, and her features turned softer.

"Well, basically. Mostly, we're interested if there is… like a cure for a werewolf-infection." Sam asked, full of hope, and Dean held his breath.

"Cure?" O'Toole raised her bushy eyebrows and looked them over more closely. "Aw no, don't tell me someone you know got bitten. A friend of yours? Robert?"

"Nope, that'd be me" Dean lifted his hand in greeting and smiled tightly. She sighed and looked them over, her shoulders dropping down.

"Damn that man" she muttered. "You better come in, then. Wait until I get the boys in their room, though. They don't react kindly to weres" That was one request Dean was glad to fulfill.

Once inside, the woman had thawed even more and he had to revise his assessment. She didn't look forbidding anymore and the idea of a smile on her face was actually pleasant. In fact, up close he could spot the little laugh-lines that crinkled at her eyes and which had been lost in the overall wrinkle-ness on her sun-dried skin. She led them into her kitchen, which was sunny and light and mostly clean except for a few dirty dishes in the sink. It smelled like bacon and eggs, but Dean wasn't sure if he noticed because of his heightened senses or because she'd just eaten, so he didn't say anything. They sat at the wooden table close to the large window overlooking an expanse of land that hadn't been visible from the driveway, but that was obviously part of O'Toole's property. It was as lush and beautiful as the garden close to the house.

O'Toole made coffee and while it was brewing, she sat down opposite them and took her visitors in with sharp eyes and probably even sharper mind.

Up close, she looked like a female version of Bobby. She wasn't an exact copy, of course, but there was a presence to her that reminded him at once at their old friend. She had short, graying hair, a stocky built and broad shoulders, and somehow Dean doubted there was much fat on her. She wore jeans and a checkered man's shirt, a vest and sturdy boots. Only the ball-cap was missing, and the beard, to make her a sister to the grumpy old cod back in South Dakota. "Your maiden name's not Singer, right?"

O'Toole looked at him and for a second, everything froze. But she threw her head back and laughed, and it was like the sun coming up behind a cloud. Her whole face transformed into warmth and hospitality, and the two of them exhaled in unison.

Still chuckling, she went to get the coffee and three chipped mugs, took milk out of the fridge and sat back down with them. "No, my maiden name's O'Toole. I used to be a Granger once, but that's not what I wanted to be stuck with after getting rid of the fucker. And nowadays, a woman living alone doesn't need to be associated with the name of a witch from a kid's book. But call me Alyssa, then I won't feel so old" she winked "I'm guessin' you're the Winchester-kids, then?"

Kids?

"Kids? Not since a long time" Sam frowned, but the woman chuckled again and patted his arm.

"Boy, if you are who I think, you'll always be Bobby's kids, no matter how huge you get. Or how sassy" she said in Dean's direction. He decided to ignore it, sniffing the coffee with longing. "It's ok, boy. You just take lotsa milk and you'll keep it down."

Grateful, Dean grabbed the mug and poured, groaning in delight when the caffeine hit his taste-buds. He noticed Sam grinning, but chose to let it go. Alyssa took a sip as well and then continued, speaking to Sam which was fine with Dean for now. There was coffee to savor. "The incapacity for certain human foods lessens when the body had time to adjust to the shift. Sooner or later, even stuff like grapes and chocolate won't be poisonous anymore" What? Chocolate was poison? He couldn't even eat freaking chocolate? Dean's mind was spinning over the horrible scenario of a life without sweets, but O'Toole continued and he tried to keep up. "I don't know if you noticed, but sooner or later, the muscles, bones and ligaments don't resist the change anymore and everything gets easier, more fluent. The stomach and bowls can process human food again, like they used to. I wouldn't test it with poisonous stuff, though, and I hope you didn't let him eat any bones?" Sam shook his head vehemently "Good. Those can really injure the intestines during shifting, they just don't digest fast enough. Now, how long'sit been?"

"He got bitten three weeks ago, and he'd been… shifting since Monday night."

"No full moon yet, then?"

Sam shook his head.

"Good, really good" Before any of them could ask what was so good about that, she continued. "What do you know about furries?"

"Not much. Dean shot one, years ago, and then this one, who bit him. Other than that, we know more about the…"

"Non-furries"

"Non-furries. Silver kills them, right? And they heal pretty fast"

At that, Dean frowned and looked at his arm, only now realizing that the bites had nearly scarred over and the pain was close to gone. Huh, he hadn't even noticed.

"Well. Basically, that's what I'd expect hunters to know about them. You're not wrong, but that's not all. They're really different from the non-furries, in many aspects. Where non-furries get vicious and dangerous without fail, the furries … well, they don't start out that way. I don't know if these two are even related to each other, but I think, based on observation, that the viciousness's due to the fact that the human part of the were is stronger in the non-furries than the wolf-part."

"Really?" Dean interrupted "I'd have thought… it was the wolf that made them kill"

"Yes" she scowled "It's what most would think. But what wolf do you know that kills and only eats the heart? That'd be a waste of food, just as it'd be stupid to seek a certain person to eat the heart of. No, the wolf is not the aggressor in this infection. It's, if you wanna call it something, the victim" Dean scoffed and she glared at him. "You wanna listen, or you wanna wait outside?" Sam kicked his ankle and Dean lowered his head, mumbling an insincere "sorry".

"Now. The furries are more wolfish, so they're usually mainly one thing when all this starts: scared shitless. Most newly infected furries, as far as I could find out, are freaked out about suddenly waking up in a city, not knowing how they got there, not knowing what was around them and why. A scared animal is a dangerous animal, so I guess a lot of infection-spreading stems from this time"

"Can the uh… furries change at will?" This time, Sam was shot down with her scary glare.

"You wanna go and read all that yourself, be my guest." O'Toole indicated to the hallway behind her. Sam shook his bangs and glared at Dean when he grinned at him "If not, shut up and listen. No, no werewolf can shift at will. They can only change in the week before full moon, like the non-furries, with the full moon being the longest night for them. It's also the night they get the most instinctual. Now, usually they're like wolves. The first time they shift, they are complete wolf, no memory of ever being something different. So a lot of them, when waking up in a city, run and hide and when they shift back, they don't know where they are. Some wind up in the wilderness and never get back to 'civilization'" she actually used air-quotes "and I guess some might still live there somewhere, not doing any harm. Why would they? It'd only lead to their destruction if they ever get found out. There are several problems, though, which is why there are incidents with furries here and there. First shift is really scary, I already mentioned. Self-defense is another, and in the age of the vicious wolf-hatred in this country, it's more common than you'd think. I guess a lot of them get shot, simple as that."

"Uhm…" Dean tried to interrupt, raising his hand tentatively like he was in school "With actual bullets?"

"Of course, or do you know any ordinary hunter who'd load his gun with silver?" Dean didn't know any ordinary hunter at all, so he shook his head "Yes, sure, silver kills a werewolf, but so does lead or an axe or a club. A car. You shoot the wolf dead, it stays dead. Not sure what happens if you shoot the human when they're not furry, but the wolf-part's just an animal. Just… not quite. Which leads to the next problem." She stood and opened a cupboard, all the while continuing to explain "The furries that get out of the city often try to join a wolf-pack when they're in animal-form. If they find one, though, that's usually the end for them" O'Toole set a pack of cookies –without chocolate, but still: cookies! – in front of them, motioning them to take one. Dean'd never wasted a cookie, and he wouldn't be starting now "Wolves don't take kindly to strange wolves, if it's not a female, but they certainly don't take kindly to a wolf that isn't a real wolf. For some reason, they smell that they're wrong and simply tear them apart."

"But you said wolves aren't vicious" Sam interrupted and dunked his cookie into the coffee. Little freak.

"I never said that. Wolves don't kill for fun, or for just a heart. But there is nothing fun in defending your territory, believe me. My dogs aren't fun when it comes to defending their pack or our home, and they are a far cry from wolf. Now… where was I?"

"Smelling wrong"

"Right" Alyssa took another sip of coffee and nibbled at her baked treat, staring into nothing while probably sorting stuff in her head. Bobby looked similar on these occasions, only O'Toole refrained from stroking her chin. "Now, if a furry survives, I don't know what happens to them. I assume there are a few that live hidden somewhere, more or less happy and not causing problems. But a lot of them, and those are the ones hunters come across, snap. They get crazy, can't stand the shifting, the heightened senses, the rush of civilization. Close to cities, their instincts scream at them to run and hide, while their human brain tries to reason and tries to stay where it had learned the human belonged. Their animal-minds clash with the human mind, and they get crazy and out of control from the constant tug between instinct and intelligence. I guess that was the reason the wolf attacked you weeks ago"

"Ehm…"

"Why didn't your brother snap?"

Sam nodded.

"Where you there, when he changed?" another nod "That's what I thought. Wolves are pack-animals. Family, pack, is everything. I know of one furry, he was with his wife when he turned. Or, well, he was in their bed when he woke as wolf. She screamed but I don't know why, she accepted him at once as her husband. He stayed with his family for two years before one day he didn't return from his monthly trips to the forests. Nobody knows what happened, but it's a good bet he's dead" she shook her head sadly and Dean was pretty sure that she'd known this couple personally.

Sighing, she stood once more, turning her back to them and staring out of the window into the soft green. "I'm pretty sure, though, that the furry werewolf is a mistake of nature, and that they won't ever be stable. They are relics from a time when it was possible to roam this land for years without encountering any human, a time when a shifting person would actually be able to survive, maybe even be happy. Nowadays, though, there is little hope of that. My guess is that sooner or later, you will get crazy too, Dean" She looked at him then, a small, gentle smile tugging at her mouth and a softness in her eyes that reminded him of her male counterpart once again. He swallowed his coffee in an effort to hide his emotions.

Alyssa's next words were even softer "As for a cure, I don't know if there is one"

* * *

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

_a/n: I'm kinda sorry for the delay, but only kinda. I wanted to post this AFTER the finale so everyone could get their heads out from under the bed and since I'm not able to watch it myself before Saturday (Europe and all that), that took some time away from my usual schedule.  
Adding to that was the fact that some tiny facts got Gambled or Kripked and I had to work over it again.  
If I missed something, please tell me. Other than that, have fun _

* * *

It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Dean had frozen, mug halfway up to his mouth and Sam just stared at her, incredulous. This wasn't possible. There had to be a cure, there had to be!

"I'm really sorry. I'll go look for one as soon as we're finished here, I promise, and I can't swear that there isn't one. There might be, I never cared to look for it though. But…"

Dean had apparently adjusted faster to this than Sam had, because his voice was calm if unnaturally deep when he spoke "So, what are the chances then that I might not get crazy? You said the body will adjust to shifting, right? That's not too bad, right?"

"Well, pain-wise, it's not too bad. The problem is, though, that once your two personalities fuse, the process of becoming a full werewolf is finished and would be irrevocable. _If_ there is a cure, which there might not be"

Sam cleared his throat and wiped a hand over his lips. "That's why you said it's good that he's only shifted for such a short time?" Alyssa nodded. "So there is still hope. We still have a chance. I'm not giving up before we tried everything" he stated, not leaving room for leeway.

"I expected nothing less, Sam. We will look, I even have an idea where I might find something. Finish the coffee, then let's hunt for some answers" her eyes twinkled, just like their father's had when he'd found some intriguing mystery to solve, Sam thought.

"Uh, before we go dig into some dusty books" Dean interrupted, "what did you mean with 'fusing personalities'?"

"Oh, well. I told you, the first time a person shifts, the mind becomes that of a wolf?" They nodded in unison "Right. Now, that changes later. The longer you change, the more human you stay as wolf, and the more wolf you are when in human skin. You'll remember what you did in the other form, which, if I'm correct, never happens with the non-furries. I don't know how fast the adjustment is, I haven't done much research on that. But I'd guess it depends on how much alike the two personalities are from the beginning"

Sam looked at his brother who returned the worried expression with one of his own. And was there a hint of guilt? Before Sam could question it, though, O'Toole noticed. "What? Don't tell me…"

"Pack-animal: check. Fiercely protective of family: check. Hunter: check. Likes to roam around the country: check." he counted, surprised when Dean added "Heightened sense of smell: check"

Sam glared at his brother "When were you gonna tell me that?" he hissed, feeling his nostril flare in anger.

"Uh, never? I was kinda hoping it wouldn't be an issue" Dean glared back.

"Oh" Alyssa interrupted their wordless argument. "That's fascinating" Two simultaneous glares met her "… but of course it means that we need to work fast. I'm sure it's still early enough if we find a cure. Yes, I'm sure. Right. Now, Sam, Dean. Let's go research!"

"Lead the way, Spock" Dean muttered, and Sam tried to stare reproachfully at him but ruined the effect by grinning himself. Luckily, O'Toole didn't hear them, or they'd probably get sent out to weed the garden or something.

.  
"This is amazing" Sam whispered when they entered Alyssa's library. In contrast to most occult book-storages they'd come across, her room was as light as the kitchen had been, as inviting as the garden. The walls were lined with shelves full of thick books, but it looked like she had a system that meant even someone not trained in hunting would get what he needed. She seemed organized and even though Sam loved Bobby and his place, this room made him happy and filled him with hope in a way the Singer-homestead never did. This felt like a real house, not a lair, and if he'd still seek 'normal' or a family or such foolish things, this would be what he'd aim for.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Dean moving through the room with something close to awe in his face, eyes big like those of a kid in a candy store. Since his brother didn't share his own love for books, even though he knew of their value, Sam could only assume it was the library itself that fascinated him that much.

It was probably the same tingel of 'home' he was experiencing.

"Yes, it's quite stuffed" Alyssa smiled and moved towards one particular shelf at the left corner, setting oddly delicate silver-rimmed glasses on her straight, slightly aquiline nose. "I think what we're looking for might be found here" and her calloused fingers moved along the book-spines while she mumbled "No…no…maybe…yeah… no…" silently, every so often taking one book out and putting it on a nearby small table.

Sam browsed now as well, a feeling of contentment spreading through him. These were ancient books, full of knowledge and wisdom. There were shelves filled with hunters' journals, the small booklets so different in size and wear that it seemed improbable that anyone could find something in them. He picked one up and opened it carefully and was surprised to find a sheet in neat type set inside that listed name, content and accuracy of the information within. There was a warning next to "wraith", stating that the entry wasn't confirmed by anyone else.

This was by far the neatest hunter's library he'd ever seen, and he wondered if it was because Alyssa was a woman, or because she was just the only one who took interest in these things.

"You got all this stuff on real wolves? Why?" Dean asked into the silence of paper-rustling, and Sam turned to see what he meant.

His brother was standing in front of a different shelf, this one filled with mostly colorful book-spines, apparently newer than anything hunting-related.

Alyssa looked up as well, and smiled when she spotted what Dean held in his hand: a big book of wolf-photographs. "Because they are fascinating. I've always been in awe of them, always wanted to know all there is about them. It's why I chose to study biology, why I became a professor at the University of Vienna and later held lectures about their social behavior all over the world, still do, in fact. Just last month I was over in Toronto, talking about wolf-populations and their effect on aspen growth due to them preying on elk and other animals that reduce the aspen before they can form real …" she trailed off, looking sheepish for a second "Sorry. That's not what you're here for. I tend to get carried away when it comes to my wolves." She returned to the books she was searching through, and though she was right, they had bigger problems, Sam was sad that she'd stopped. It was always fun for him to see someone so entranced by their subject, so delighted by retelling their knowledge and lighting up a room simply by loving what they were talking about.

He still got a weird flashback to one episode from the X-files, though.

Alyssa had obviously chosen well with her studies if it gave her so much joy. "Wait, O'Toole? You're that O'Toole? Dr. A. O'Toole who wrote all these publications about family structure in wolf-packs?" She nodded and smiled. Sam'd found references to her stuff all over the web while he'd been researching what was maybe happening to his brother, and he was giddy to actually meet someone with that much standing in the academic world. Even Dean seemed impressed, judging by his raised eyebrows and the reverence with which he now examined the photographs in the book he was holding. "So how come you know so much about werewolves? It's not exactly the normal path a scientist takes"

The professor turned around and looked at him, a fond smile in her eyes. "No, certainly not. But when you read about wolves, learn about them, you can't help coming across all kinds of legends. And… they fascinated me as much as the actual animals did, all the lore out there. Native American lore, European lore, Russian lore… all over the world, people have a certain awe for the wolves, see them as mystical creatures, so I soon got convinced that all this can't be complete bullshit" She grinned, showing her slightly smoke-yellowed teeth "So I started research on that as well. Can't imagine my surprise when I not only found out that a lot of lore used to be true, but that it's still true in many aspects. Now, I think I got something. Sam, you're close enough, could you find me the journal by… I think Jeffrey Doman would be the one. Yeah, old Jeff. It should be in one of the middle shelves" she vaguely indicated the direction the journal would be, her head already back to being buried in the text before her. Dean joined him and they went through the journals to pick up the one by someone named Doman.

.  
"Got it"

After browsing for a while through absolutely fascinating material, Dean held up a slim, leatherbound book which was swiftly snatched away by Alyssa. She grabbed the pile of books she'd already assembled around her and set them on the bigger work-desk in the adjoining room, hurrying back to get a tumbler full of whiskey and settled down with paper, pen and a serious expression, not really caring about her visitors. When Sam tentatively asked if they could help, she just looked confused and shook her head, burying herself into the words without further interruption.

They shrugged and settled down in the library. Sam snatched himself one of the journals that'd peeked his interest earlier and looked for a good place to sit. The big, soft couch was already occupied by Dean and his long legs, reading a thick volume about wolves in Yellowstone. Surprisingly, he'd taken off his boots, the thin, worn socks resting on the big red pillow at one end, while his spiky hair lay on the other. It seemed his brother had a deep-set respect for this woman as well as her furniture, a rare occurrence as far as Sam could remember. Contentedly, he dropped into one of the plush and unexpectedly comfortable, high-backed armchairs and started to delve into the 1950s, where William F. Hurt encountered his first ghost in Chicago.

Dean had long since fallen asleep, the thick book open on his chest, when Alyssa waved Sam over to her desk. "I think I got it" she murmured, apparently not interested in waking Dean. The dogs had come in about an hour ago, dissatisfied with staying away from their boss for so long. Three of them had left again after sniffing Dean from a safe distance, only growling low for a few seconds, but the two eldest now lay at Alyssa's feet, curled around each other with their heads buried in each other's fur. It looked peaceful, but Sam wasn't entirely sure that they didn't see themselves as guards against the bad, evil werewolf that was snoring so dangerously on the couch.

"Really?" He tried to tone down his hope, but it was hard.

"Well…. Yeah. I think. It's just… it's not just one thing, though. It's a bit complicated, and I need to think it over, make sense of everything. So… how're your cooking-skills?"

Astonished by her question, Sam looked at his watch. They'd spent three hours already doing basically nothing, and he'd not even noticed. It was nearly half past three now and for a minute he wondered how he had come to relax so much in the present of a complete stranger. It wasn't that she was a woman, Sam was sure, for he knew very well how dangerous the female of his species could be. Maybe it was the resemblance to Bobby, maybe the cozy house. Maybe even the whiskey she'd drunk which made her voice scratchy and rough and the smell of smoke and rye and alcohol was reminding him of Dad.

Or maybe it was nothing at all and he was just too damn tired of the constant distrust their life forced on them. For whatever reason, he now firmly believed that Alyssa O'Toole held the answer to his questions, the solution to their problem and the fact that his brother was lying limp and asleep over there on the couch was enough of a recommendation towards trust for Sam.

"Cooking? Really bad, actually. Dean can cook pasta, though, that's not half bad. If you're a vegetarian or simply like your arteries unclogged, he makes a mean salad. Which means that it's a really bad idea to let him do it" he joked, too relieved not to.

"Pasta is fine, then. How about you wake your brother and go into town, buy some supplies for that. And while you're there, there's a list on the fridge with stuff, you can buy them too. I'll give you money" Sam nodded. Maybe tact should make him to offer to split the bill, but Winchester-childhood told him that you should never look a gifted horse in the mouth, and never-ever refuse money.

Not to mention, they'd kinda maxed their last credit-card yesterday.

"And while you're gone, I'll check some more and take the punks" she nodded towards her dogs which had changed their position to sitting next to her when Sam had approached "for a walk. I won't be far, just up to the lake south of here, maybe twenty minutes there and twenty back. You come back, you cook, we'll eat and then we'll talk. Okay?"

"Fine with me" he said reluctantly. He'd hoped the cure would be done faster and they could get over with it, but apparently Alyssa took food very seriously, or the solution was more complicated than a simple potion.

Of course it would be more complicated, Sam scolded himself. When had it ever been easy?

***

Cooking was something Dean enjoyed, though he had to admit it wasn't his best trait. While staying with Lisa and Ben, he'd cooked quite a lot. Lisa had often worked later than him and Ben needed something to bite. It'd come naturally, like riding a bike after years of storing the thing in a cellar and letting it gather rust and spider-webs. But even though the act of cooking wasn't that hard, he'd had to learn a lot about proper and improper nutrients, especially for young boys. How Sam had grown into such a giant was, according to Lisa, a wonder of biblical proportions, considering Dean's love for easy-fixed junk.

After one year of kitchen-school, he'd become quite good at cooking different kinds of food and he could even read a cook-book and prepare something fancy, like a roast, for instance. He wouldn't be crazy enough to let Sam know that, though, lest the happy little giant would want home-cooked meals every day now. And truthfully, thinking too much of what was left behind and wiped clean hurt.

Spaghetti with meat-sauce, though, was safe. He'd always been ok with that dish, even as a kid, long before ever messing up Lisa Braeden's life.

They were strolling down the middle-sized grocery-store in Backwood Creek now, which reminded Dean eerily of the Quick-E-Mart from The Simpsons. There even was an Indian guy behind the register, whose name hopefully was anything but Apu.

"Why do we need so many carrots?" Sam asked, hefting the large bag into the cart.

"No clue, the Professor had it on her list. Now, we need tomato-sauce and meat and onions-"

"No onions, Dean!"

Incredulous, he stared at Sam who narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. If there would be huffing, he'd look exactly like he'd done with five. Apart from the ten foot or so he'd grown since, of course. "C'mon Sam! We can't have pasta without onions! That's just… a crime!"

"No. Onions" Sam held firm, and to prevent the crying and screaming and rolling on the floor of the shop –the geek could deny all he wanted, but he'd been a real pain in the ass at five – Dean gave in. He'd just make do with garlic, then. He'd not back down on the garlic-front!

Back at the O'Toole-house, after Ajit – not Apu, thank god! – had collected a large amount of money for a lot of stuff that barely fit into the Impala, Dean started on the cooking. Alyssa wasn't back yet but she'd left them a key and the two of them began to do mundane stuff that would always seem weird, no matter how the rest of the world thought about it as normal. Like cooking, packing groceries into a fridge – a big fridge! – and even, in Sam's case, cleaning the left-over dishes in the sink. It was relaxing and Dean fell back into the easy routine he'd had with Lisa, joking while cutting stuff and ordering Sam about. He sort of ignored the fond looks his brother threw at him once and again, and the only awkward moment was when he accidentally called him Ben.

You'd think Dean just said he had terminal-stage cancer, the look he got for that. Sam stared at him all wet-eyed and pitiful and sad, and he had to bare his teeth to remind his brother of the still standing threat of broken noses.

He'd hated wiping them away, not even half-managing to do it properly. He fucking knew it wasn't just to keep them save. If that'd been the only goal, he'd have let … yeah, no, not thinking about him either!

So Lis and Ben were gone, and they were fine. He'd not been able to wipe them away from his own mind as he'd been in banishing the subject from any talking, not at all. He still thought about them whenever some nice, picket-fenced house needed their attention or a freckled boy passed him on the street.

Just like he still thought of Cassie every other week when seeing a fierce dark-skinned woman arguing with her boyfriend. He guessed it would always hurt, but one day, the pain might be duller, not as piercing.

Anyway, what's done is done and if you asked Dean, Sam had no business looking all guilty. It hadn't been his decision and he was getting tired of telling him that, so he chose to ignore the puppy-look and sent his brother into the cellar, where the Professor had told them they'd find something to drink.

Just when he was trying to estimate if the pasta should be set in the water already or wait until Alyssa was back, he heard the rowdy gang of dogs bark excitedly.

Dean had once been really fond of dogs, up until he'd met those smelly, giant, slimy-spiky and incredibly vicious Hellhounds from Deep South, and he'd been conquering his newfound dislike – not fear! – pretty well. Now, though, the proximity of that much dogs made his hair stand on end and his fingers itchy, and if he would've let himself, he'd have growled at them. Jesus! He couldn't even tell if it was his own instincts or the wolf in him which made him react like that. Just as he'd managed to calm down, the door banged open and the five punks scrabbled into the room. From behind them, he could hear Alyssa's command to get back "Right-the-fuck now!" but in the kitchen, time seemed frozen.

The dogs – Alyssa had explained they were Australian Cattle Dogs – stared and growled at him and he couldn't really blame them. There was, after all, a near-stranger in their home, who probably kinda smelled like a wolf. They looked pretty scary, despite their small size, ducked low and snarling, fur standing up on their backs so they looked remarkably like the punks their owner called them, teeth bared.

It could've ended in bloodshed, but Alyssa stepped in between her dogs and Dean and one stern command made them back down and settle grumbling in the hallway, from where they could peer into the room to check upon the evil man with the apron.

.  
Dinner was fine and the talk drifted lazily around teaching, hunting and living in Backwood Creek. Alyssa told them she'd been hunting with Bobby once and again, one time even with Rufus which darkened the mood a little when they told her he wasn't alive anymore, but she'd never really gotten the hang of it. She said she was too fascinated by skinwalkers and werewolves to do any good when it was a life-or-death situation, but she'd provide information to any hunter that had the guts to ask her. Dean glanced at his brother, who was glued to her lips, drinking in the information she provided as well as the life she told them about. It was fitting, Alyssa was curious and passionate but still full of sympathy for her subjects, and if things would've gone differently, Sam might've ended up like her. College education, Dean knew now, wasn't a reason not to go hunting, and knowledge was always a sharp weapon in a battle. If you thought about it, Sam was probably the better hunter of the two of them.

Not that Dean would tell him so, of course.

Her leg, surprisingly, hadn't been injured while hunting but the limp had been the result of an accident while mending her large fence. She'd stepped into a hole and twisted her knee, torn some stuff and broke some things that weren't meant to move in the direction she'd forced them to, and it had never quite healed. "I'm not a young kid anymore" she'd shrugged and moved on, apparently not concerned about it. As long as she was still able to hike with her dogs, she was fine.

With the dishes cleaned and the coffee-machine snorkeling happily in the background, Alyssa got up and collected her notes from the afternoon. The light outside had turned golden and soft, now it was nearly dark and the shadows grew in the house. She flipped on some switches, chasing the darkness away and sat back down, the former mood turning more serious.

"Now. I got something which is, actually, a promising idea. It's based on a few incidents only, though, so there's no guaranty"

Like there ever was one, Dean thought but listened, just peeking over at his brother who frowned in concern. They really needed a vacation if this worked out.

"There is, like I thought, no cure" she held her hand up to prevent Sam's outrage, heralded by the deep inhale of air – "but" – and he exhaled slowly, smiling a bit in apology and taking a sip to hide his embarrassment. "But there is a ritual that … well, fuses the two personalities into one. It's based on the theory that basically, the two parts of a werewolf are originally one that got cut in half. For some reason, one half switches into a wolf-body every month for seven days before the two are once again one. The ritual I dug out sort of makes the fusion permanent"

"But, didn't you say the fusion of the personalities is what makes the change complete?" Sam interrupted and Alyssa nodded.

"Yes, that's right. But the fusion in… they called it the 'wild form of fusion' is the one that makes the infection irrevocable. If you force the fusion to happen before it would occur naturally, you can stop the infection and there won't be more changes ever again"

"Awesome" Dean grinned, then frowned when Sam didn't join in "What? Hey, do I keep the super-smelling? Because that's kinda cool"

O'Toole grinned "I don't know, but I'd say not. Originally, your senses remain heightened only during the week of changing, so the rest of the month, you're just a man. Maybe, but that's just speculation on my part, you'll have better instincts for danger, but then again you'd have those anyway, being a hunter and all"

Sam snorted at that "Right. He senses danger and jumps right in. It'd be awesome if he got some actual common sense from the wolf, not some heightened one" Dean boxed him on the shoulder for that.

"As I said, I doubt there even will be something left. Not noticeable, at least. The source I found this in says they couldn't tell any difference to before"

"Ok, so where's the catch?"

"Now ain't you Mr. Negativity, Sam?"

"As if there ever is no catch with us, Dean!"

"Yeah, but maybe they only are because you expect them to be there?"

"What? Now it's my fault that we've got shitty luck?"

"I didn't say that! I just said…"

"Boys, shut up." They stopped, a little perplexed about her Original Winchester Command-Tone. "Now. Yes, Sam, there is a catch. Several, in fact. Most of them aren't a problem, they concern the length of infection and the amount of shifting that has been done already. Infecting someone else isn't an issue, by the way, and I couldn't find anything on infection spread over to dogs." Apparently, Sam had asked about that. Good, Dean thought, now he didn't have to. "But a catch… well, there's the ritual itself. It's like… sealing your wolf-half inside you, Dean, and it's a bit … uncomfortable - " read: painful, Dean gathered from Alyssa's reluctance to meet his eyes. Well, pain was a pretty well-known acquaintance of his, though he refused to call it 'friend' yet. More of an annoying cousin, or something, so he's deal. "- and then, there's the problem of trust"

"Trust?"

"Why's that a problem?" the brother's asked at the same time.

"We trust each other, so what is the catch?" Sam stated matter-of-factly, and Dean nodded. If there was one thing good about all the shit they'd been through, it was that they had gained a deep-set trust in each other. During their childhood, life had been relatively simple and there'd never been doubt in the trust they had placed in each other. Doubts had come later, with the pimples and the hormones, the screaming and the obedience, Sam leaving and Dean staying, and it had been a bit of a struggle to get all of it back. After all the crap, though, it was stronger than it had ever been.

"I'm sure you trust each other, Sam. But do you trust the wolf?"

Dean frowned and his brother looked at the table, thinking about it "… Well… I guess?" he finally said, but it really didn't sound so sure.

"I'd imagine you trust him to not eat you, right? But other than that, did you ever fear he'd run away, leave you, do something he shouldn't do, bite someone?" Alyssa pressed, and this time, both of them looked down. The answer was pretty obvious to Dean, because he himself didn't trust the wolf, and hell, he was the wolf, after all. "Yeah, that's what I thought. But the ritual requires a show of ultimate trust in the animal-form, from both of you. In fact…" she shifted some papers and read something, shuffled some more until she found what she'd been looking for "… in fact, you two need to hunt. Here: _a shared hunt, a prey battled, a danger mastered – it all leads to Trust as deep as the sea, and only sea-formed bonds can survive the fusing of two minds into one_. You need a full human as your partner – a brother is perfect, by the way – and you have to trust him as much as yourself and the wolf. That he'd have your brother's back as well as you would in human form, and Sam has to trust in the same thing. It doesn't say what happens if you don't, but I'd rather not test it"

Dean scratched the back of his head. Trust his wolf-him to keep Sam safe? Could he do that? For some reason, the blurry face of a policeman slipped into his mind, his brother's shocked eyes and a dull pain as his head hit a window. He wouldn't have killed a policeman, right? Sam would've told him some minor accident like that, right?

"Uhm… But he ran away. The second night, he just… ran off. I didn't find him until morning, when he called. It wasn't his fault" Sam hurried on when he saw Alyssa's frown "there was a bitch in heat. But what if – "

"That's exactly why this is necessary. Let me guess: you put a collar on him? A leash?" Sam blushed and Dean felt himself heat up a bit as well. That sounded so wrong, coming from a woman. Ah, who was he kidding, it would have sounded wrong from anyone "That's sensible and all, but it's anything but a show of trust. You have to believe that this time, Dean won't run off. And your brother, if Bobby wasn't kidding, will never leave you in the face of danger, just like you wouldn't. The wolf already trusts you, from what I understand. He let you close, let you touch him and didn't attack you, not once. So from his point of view, there won't be a problem. Dean, though, is already more connected to him, which makes it possible that the wolf will start doubting. So Dean, you can't doubt yourself, no matter which form you're in. If I interpreted this correctly – and I'm sure I did – all that's required is that you and your wolf-brother will go on a hunt together."

"Oh, that's all? Go hunt some elk and that's it?"

"Uh, Dean, I guess she doesn't mean the… normal kind of hunt?"

"You're right. They said 'danger mastered', and even if an elk isn't exactly small, it wouldn't be really dangerous to hunt one. Not to mention that it's off-season right now, and believe me, you don't want to be caught by Game and Wildlife in these parts!"

"Great. And where do we find a hunt around here?"

"That's the beauty of it" Alyssa beamed "I know just the place for you" 

* * *

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

_a/n: So, here it is, shorter than the last (which was really long anyway) and it's getting close to the end. Not there yet, I guess 2 more chapters, maybe an epilogue but not sure about that. Uhm... yeah, have fun. _

* * *

"It's just a simple hunt, just a little salt and burn, just finding some old bones" Sam griped a few hours later. Him and Grey-Brother were struggling through the dense jungle that was actually the backyard of Alain Deguerre, deceased and still kicking, who had vanished under mysterious circumstances decades ago. Read: was killed by his neighbor over a feud about cat-shit, of all things. Everyone had known at the time but nobody had managed to find his body or prove that there even had been a crime committed. It was said that Alain still haunted his home, which was why no new owner had been able to live there longer than a year. It was a very reasonable assumption.

No-one had died, but the house gave every prospective buyer the creeps, made them twitchy and jumpy and was cold in the winter and hot in the summer, no matter what the new owners who had foolishly ignored their instincts to run away from the moment they'd set foot in the beautiful old house had done to improve the heating and insulation.

It had been empty for twenty years now and the rooms were dusty and moldy and had lit the EMF-meter like the Times-Square's Christmas tree when Sam and Dean had checked it out earlier, before sunset.

The Professor had given them what she knew about Deguerre and his house and it'd been easy enough to figure out that the body must be buried somewhere on the grounds, which was still way too much to search through without a clue.

Or a really fine nose, Alyssa had said, pointedly looking at Dean. It had been a while before midnight and his brother had still been two-legged, looking with awe at the pictures of himself as a wolf that their host had printed out from Sam's phone.

As if he really needed more vanity.

Just before midnight, Alyssa had offered a mild muscle-relaxant to him, which Dean had reluctantly taken, much to Sam's surprise. He knew how much Dean hated any kind of sedation or being otherwise off his game, hated the loss of control. And he understood it completely. Sam'd never been in control of anything, it felt, even firmly believing being his own man in Stanford, he'd still been played and led like a puppet, and that hadn't changed until he'd been able to gain control over Lucifer. That experience, no matter the price he'd paid, had been as freeing as stepping on the bus to college had been, only without the guilty aftertaste of leaving his brother alone with the grumpy hunter that was their dad.

It had been right and admirable; he'd fought the freaking devil and he'd won! It had been a close call, he'd never been able to do it if Dean hadn't been with him, but he'd grabbed his so-called destiny and wrung its neck, kicked it in the nuts and spat on its face in the dirt.

That was control, and he was reluctant to let the hard-won price go ever since, even more so than before, as a younger man, when it had just been a rare treat.

He was pretty sure Dean's reasons for hating sedation were similar. Bad stuff happened when things went out of control, and though his brother was pretty damn good when it came to improvising, being pliant and helpless was purely terrifying to him.

"Try to remember" Alyssa had said "it should be possible for you to recall at least some part of your human mind by now. You won't be yourself, but there is a good chance that you remember more than in the beginning"

"That's to say more than nothing? I guess that's manageable"

The Professor had smiled and sent him up to the guest-room, then brought the dogs out into the kennel she had on the property in case visitors couldn't deal with the lot. They'd tear Dean apart, she'd explained to Sam, and he'd followed her and made sure that the doors were firmly locked. He'd taken his gun out too, prayed he didn't have to use it because the dogs had grown on him. But he'd shoot anyone and anything if he had to. Dean might be a big, dangerous wolf, but he lacked the protection that being human gave you in this world, the little pause most enemies made when it came to killing a fellow man.

Alyssa had seen the weapon but not commented, and Sam was grateful for that. He'd hate to hurt her or her dogs, but he would, and she knew. And she didn't blame him for that.

Of course Sam had followed Dean upstairs precisely two minutes after midnight, even though he had left him privacy for his change. Stroking the sleepy wolf on the bed over the soft fur behind his ears, he woke his brother so he wouldn't startle awake alone and disoriented in a strange room that probably smelled like dog all over. Hell, even Sam could smell the unavoidable dog-odor in the house, and his nose was pretty crappy.

***

Now, two o'clock had passed, Sam crawled out from under one more spiky bush that probably used to be a rose but was now nothing but a big nuisance. Dean was sniffing somewhere else already and he wanted to scream in frustration.

Since they got here and he'd told Dean to "uh, go look for bones?" the wolf had sniffed here and there, sometimes taking longer on one spot and sometimes returning to a place he'd just sniffed at. Sam had already dug twenty shallow holes, all in hope that his brother even knew what he was doing. He was starting to doubt that, though.

Sighing, he sat down on the dewy grass, not caring about the moisture soaking his pants anymore. He was pretty wet already from crawling through the underbrush and his knees were big, dark blobs of damp earth instead of denim. His spade lay a few feet away, the well-kept blade gleaming in the moonlight. "This sucks, man" Sam muttered, watching Dean sniff the air once again and looking thoughtful. Maybe he was, maybe he just felt the need to crap in the flower-beds, which he'd done when they arrived. It was looking more and more like his brother wasn't even inside the wolf-coat, not more than he had been before.

His heart felt heavy and he lay on his back, staring up in the night-sky. He was more frustrated than really sorrowful, mostly because while this hunt was annoying without any reference-points, it wasn't hopeless. They had more time than this one night, full moon, their one big point of no return for Dean, was still three nights away. It wasn't a lot of time, but it'd be enough to come back tomorrow.

Just as he'd resigned to the fact that they wouldn't find anything, the clock having passed three now, he realized that Dean was staring at him from close by.

The wolf, his shape a spot of darkness in the pale moonlight, sat a foot or so away, watching him. His face was in the shadows, but his yellow eyes were bright, his head tilted just a tiny notion to the right.

Sam'd never seen anything like this before, but it settled in his bones like a memory. He flashed back to an opulent room where he was choking on his own blood and looking up into his brother's face, sadness and desperation and resignation in the mud-colored eyes. ThenDean's gaze had shifted, just a hint of emotion that the angel in front of them wouldn't ever know to interpret, the softening around the edges and the hint of a wink, the silent plea to trust him.

Sam'd been terrified of this memory for a long time, until more terror had shoved it away. It had been the closest he'd even come to losing Dean, not just dying but instead, much more terrifying, losing what made him Dean while his body would move on and on and on.

Yes, he could imagine, to a slight extend, what his brother had been through when first Lucifer, then nothing had taken over his own bones.

So he'd shoved it away and not examined it more, reasoning with himself that since Dean hadn't said 'Yes', it didn't matter anyway.

But the wink, that had stayed. In his darkest mindset, facing the ultimate fear of losing him, Dean had changed his mind and had in that instance changed his destiny. He'd put all his trust in Sam, had told Heaven No, had chosen his brother over whatever darkness brewing within that had even led him to that point, and now, this wolf, this completely different creature, was staring at Sam with the same fond look in his eyes, the same "trust me" written somewhere behind his pupils.

How could he refuse that?

Sam sat up and Dean jumped on his feet, tail wagging happily and tongue lolling in silent laughter before he ran off to sniff and smell and dig some more. For a second, Sam thought he would miss the wolf when they broke the curse, his easy happiness and eagerness to touch, play and grin, even if it wasn't a human grin. But he'd miss his brother even more, and so he shoved the treacherous thoughts away. He would wait until Dean got the right spot, not following him everywhere and use his spade but actually trust that his grey-brother could find the remains and would be able to tell him one way or another that he had to dig there, now.

***

It all smelled so fresh, Dean thought. The air smelled clean with just a hint of mouse, spiced up with a strong pinch of cat. In fact, _cat_ was everywhere and it was hard to filter out, ignore it. He was aware – he'd never been before – that he'd not had problems concentrating on one smell yesterday. And it was confusing him even more that he knew what _yesterday_ meant. Not _before_, but actually the day before today, and he knew he'd never had a concept that concrete ever in his life. Or had he? It was all a big mess.

But he knew there was Sam, and he knew Sam was his brother, his pack, his family. His… his. And Sam was looking for something and Dean, yes, he'd find it for him. He'd help him even though he didn't really know what it was he was looking for.

It wasn't cat, that much he knew.

"You hungry, Grey-Brother?" Sam asked, and Dean _knew_ what he meant, that he meant food, and even that it was his name his brother was calling, even though it wasn't his name at all, not even close.

But food was always good, so he turned on the spot and went to Sam, staring him into submission or rather staring the … the _bread_ with meat _salami_ on it to drop into his snapping jaws. It was delicious and it took his mind off the matter. He could relax for a while, lie on the grass next to his brother, letting him groom his fur and not think about separating smells and searching something and listening to rustle and bustle in the bushes and still take care of Sam, who was big and strong but rather naked and without any serious weapons, like claws or teeth or something.

It was all so confusing, where it used to be so easy.

But this was important, and after he'd drunk some water from the …the… the _thing_ Sam had put in front of him – not puddle, something! – Dean shook himself and went back to searching.

It was easier now, his mind clearer. There was the strong _cat_-smell, and _mouse, bird, old dead mole_ but there was also something else. Moldy, like bones, but not like food-bones. Old, decayed and - yes, human. Cloth. He could feel it in his toes, smell it, see it in front of him, like a thin, vague line in a color that was none. He turned around, testing its strength. It got better to the north, the color sharpening a little.

Head high, he followed it, drinking in the particles that drifted in the air, clung to the leaves and the grass and the flower-beads, crossed by much stronger scents that were lower to the ground.

_Mouse, bug, bird_ the smells read and he ignored them, ignored the heavy, nearly overwhelming odor that was his brother, his family, close behind. It was hard to shut it out, but he managed, concentrated harder.

The colorful line grew thicker, more a cloud now instead of a wisp and he followed to a large shrub with circular, big, smelly flowers. His nose screamed at him to know the smell but his brain pushed the flowers away, burying them under the scent of _wrong, dead, bones, human_ that lay underneath the bush.

His nose hit the ground, and he inhaled, not caring about earth getting into it. He sneezed once but continued to press his snout into the soil, taking deep whiffs of _earth, bug, worm, fungus_ and there, to the left, _human, cloth_.

Closer and closer he got to the source of this smell and when he finally couldn't find a place that scented stronger than the one he was pressing into, he started whining and digging.

This was it, this was what Sam needed! He clawed at the earth and bit into the roots of the flower-bush and even though he could hear Sam approaching, he didn't stop. He'd found it, and he'd dig it up for his family, he'd help, yes, he'd help!

"You got it? Awesome, Dean! Great man, c'mon, move, let me get the hydrangea out of the way"

A leg pushed at him and Dean growled. This was his prey, he'd found it, all on his own! But the smell of _Sam_ hit him and he turned, staring up at the large human that was, for some weird reason, his family.

It looked like Sam wanted to dig, even though his hands were clawless and his shape completely wrong to get things done. Really, Dean was a master-digger, but maybe he should let Sam get some fun too?

"Dean, c'mon, rest. Let me do the digging. I'll be much quicker and then we can get back and sleep some more, 'kay?"

Dean exhaled, stared into the little hole he'd dug. It wasn't deep and there was this stupid bush and yeah, maybe he was tired. But he liked digging! He wanted to go on, do more, move his legs and paws and claw the earth away, not just smell the price but actually touch it, feel it.

"How about I dig and you keep watch?" Sam asked and huh, that made sense! Dean had much better ears than Sam and his nose was _freaking awesome_… really good.

Yeah, he'd keep watch, good idea!

* * *

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

_Jeeeeeeeze, I'm SO damn sorry! I forgot to update *hangs head in shame* and I can't TELL you how sorry I am. Jeeze..._

_Anyway, to make up for it - if that's even possible - I'll be posting everything today, because, my dear friends, it's finished. Enjoy (and please don't hit me too hard...)  
_

* * *

There was a bug.

It was crawling urgently right in front of his snout and he could feel how it moved the grass by its pass through it. Neither was the bug very interesting, nor did the steady sound of the long wooden thing with the metal on one end that Sam kept using to dig a hole hold Dean's attention. It was occasionally interrupted by bursts of words, mostly "man, why did I say he could take watch?" but whenever Dean walked over to see if his pack needed some help, his brother just looked at him and shook his head.

Lazily, Dean sniffed the air again, trying to see if something might sneak up on them. There wasn't anything but the usual nightlife. A bat flapped over them and for a second, he followed the sound of its wings and when he lowered his nose back to the ground, he startled. _Cat_ was close by, somewhere to the right of him, only a few steps away. He hated cats, freaking fluffy things. A snack would be pretty awesome.

Glancing over to Sam, noting that he'd be busy for a while still and wouldn't miss him, Dean rose from his comfortable position to a crouch and sneaked closer to cat, which smelled like it was crapping. Good, it'd be busy then. Step by careful step, the wolf crept further into the bushes, mindful that no twig moved and would warn his prey. Just behind the petal-filled outer twigs of the shrub, the space increased and right smack in the middle of it was the cat, already filling the little dug hole with earth to hide its crap, tongue between the front teeth and an air of fierce concentration around it.

Cats were so stupid, Dean thought. Why waste this great resource by burying it, when it could be so easily used to mark their territory? Wolves weren't that dumb, hell, dogs weren't that moronic! Not to mention that the care this particular cat was spending on hiding its feces would be much more useful if spent on watching its surroundings.

Crouching low, Dean prepared to pounce. It was a pretty thin cat, and mangy-looking, but he'd not hunted in a long time and he was feeling anxious to kill something. All the better if that something was edible. More or less. Just as he'd wiggled his butt in perfect jump-position, the cat twisted and stared in his direction, fur raised at once so it looked like a hedgehog, tail like that of a fox. It hissed, spit flying away from its mouth, surprisingly not at the wolf in front of it but at something slightly above and beyond Dean.

Cats are stupid. But not so stupid that they'd hiss at the air with no reason.

Cats are stupid, but they're also extremely sensitive to any supernatural occurrence.

The wolf didn't waste the early warning. By the time his own hackles raised and he felt the electrical tingle in the tips of his fur, he was already out of the bushes and in the open, spotting the _ghostghostghost_ at once. A pale specter of wrongness was heading directly towards Sam, arms stretched out in front of it, threatening Dean's family, his _pack_!

That was unacceptable, more important than food, hunting or his own life. It was his brother, his family, his pack that was in danger, and even though the ghost made his skin itch and his legs twitch with the urge to run away, he wouldn't flee now.

A yowl tore from his throat, not a growl and not a howl but something in between, loud and vicious, promising death and pain.

He aimed directly for the jugular, and any man surprised like this specter was wouldn't have lived to tell the tale. But he wasn't a man anymore, there was no resistance to the sharp teeth and heavy body that sailed against it and Dean just flew through the ghost into the bush behind it, growling in fury and confusion, twisting mid-air so he landed on his side, scrambling up at once to go right back into the fight.

***

Sam ducked on instinct when he heard the sharp bark-yowl, the hydrangeas and wild-grown roses stopping him from rolling out of the way. He'd nearly finished the excavation of Alain, poor bastard, but it seemed the disturbance of his remains had made him angrier than a new homeowner had done in the past.

The ghost was upon him before he had time to crawl completely out of the hole, grabbing him at his throat and raising him up in the air. It looked probably ridiculous, a five foot seven little bald man holding six foot four bulky, muscular Sam Winchester up so high his feet didn't touch the ground anymore, but the joke was lost on him in that moment. He was choking and could only think about what a weird end it would be for him, anticlimactic after saving the world and defeating more than one devil. Then again, it was oddly fitting for a Winchester.

Next moment, though, he hit the grass, hard. His brother had charged at the spirit again, just running through its wispy form. It didn't dissolve Alain for longer than a few split-seconds, but it was enough to break its concentration on keeping Sam aloft.

Coughing, he sat up and took in the scene. Deguerre tried to grab the wolf, who was slipping away every time, sometimes charging right at the legs and lower body, sending the wisps of supernatural energy somewhere else before they reformed. Sam was torn. The shotgun was just about ten feet away, but the bones were nearly clear of soil and it'd probably be faster to torch them now.

Mind made up, he turned on his belly to dig out the last pieces of Alain Deguerre with his hands, trusting his brother to hold his own against a simple spirit. It didn't matter what form Dean was, he was still a hunter with sharp reflexes – even sharper now – and a life-time of dodging threats. He'd be fine.

It didn't take long and just when he heard a blood-curdling growl-bark-snarl and felt the coldness of the spirit's power reaching for him, he lit the bones in the shallow grave, causing the ghost to howl in fury and fear, burning it quickly. He felt the heat close against his back, but when he turned, Alain Deguerre was already gone.

With a sigh of relief, Sam dropped down on the pile of soil, closing his eyes for a second before he could muster the energy to look for his brother.

The wolf stood, panting just a few feet away, fur scruffy and in complete disarray, earth and grass-stains and pollen from the flowers around them coating his dark fur. He looked exhausted but once again weirdly similar to Dean as a human emanating some inner happy glow, just like Dean did after a successful hunt – no, even more after a successful but taxing hunt. It had dimmed quite a bit after all the crap in the last two years, but in the wolf, Sam could see the same joy that he'd seen so often when they'd hunted together in their earlier years.

Boy, had he missed that, even though he realized that there hadn't been any choice but abandon the cocky brother somewhere at a roadside and continue on with the sharp-eyed, messed-up soldier who'd taken residence inside Dean's skin.

Not like the kid would be alone out there, his own inner child was probably sitting next to him, bugging the Hell out of his older brother.

"Dude, you're awesome" he grinned and Dean, not at all similar to his human personality, pounced over and licked his face, wagging madly and twisting against Sam, his whole body begging for contact and touch.

It was a wolf-thing, but it didn't matter. It felt good and it felt real, it was still Dean and Sam would take all the fun he could get out of it, rubbing and slapping and scruffing up his brother's fur for a while. He probably wouldn't get anything that close to a hug for a long time.

***

With a loud, inhuman screech, the cat jumped out from under the hydrangea and rushed across the wild-grown lawn, nearly stopping Sam's heart in the process.

He was too shocked to do anything and so Dean did, turning on the spot and chasing after the cat to catch it and very probably kill it.

"Dean, stop!" Sam yelled and to his utter astonishment, Dean did. He dug his toes in and scrambled very inelegantly, but he did stop. "Come back here, Dean" Sam coaxed. The look in the wolf's eyes was a weird mix of astonishment, disbelief, anger and sadness to see his snack vanish, and Sam, while trying to hide his mirth, dug out two more sandwiches to give his brother and Dean slinked back quickly, snatching the food from the air when Sam tossed it to him.

The cat was long gone, he noted, only a faint rustle in the leaves hinting at its getaway-path over the old stone-wall on the western side of the garden. Grey-Brother turned in that direction, a mournful look on his furry face but Sam didn't feel sorry at all. He was pretty sure tomorrow Dean would agree.

"C'mon buddy. Let's get back" He nudged the wolf and they trotted back to the car where Sam coaxed Dean to lie in the foot space of the passenger seat after he had stored the weapon and duffel in the trunk. He wasn't sure if it was the mind of his brother that made the wolf agree or simple tiredness, but whatever the reason, Dean curled in on himself and sighed in satisfaction, asleep soon after they drove off.

The next day was a mix of excitement and boredom. While Sam sat over the instructions on the ritual for the seventeenth time, practicing the symbols and chanting the words, Dean was left to collect the ingredients of the potion.

The Professor had to leave them for half the day to hold a seminar in the local community college nearby and had given Dean the list of herbs as well as a reference books so he would recognize them in her vast garden.

The dogs were still in their kennel and only looked up from their drowsing whenever Dean passed close by, silently watching him with sharp eyes and pricked ears. It was disconcerting to feel their gazes on him until he was out of their view. Some part of him wanted to growl at them and snarl, and even though they were pretty far from any other house, that was taking it too far, in his eyes. So when he found himself baring his teeth at the dogs while stalking by, he made sure to avoid the area.

Most of what they needed for the potion grew in the garden, some of it would be brought by Alyssa when she came back from the city and two weird-sounding flowers grew close to the lake so when Sam was looking like a mad professor, hair disheveled and standing in sweaty spikes away from his head, Dean grabbed him and literally dragged him out to look for them.

It turned out to be a good idea; the lake was beautiful even though Dean wouldn't ever say that out loud and the area around was filled with birdsong and the rustling of other small animals. It smelled delicious, and it took a while for Dean to realize that it was his sharpened sense of smell that made him aware of it. Yeah, he'd sure miss that. The whole world seemed more alive, less gloomy and filled with so much wonder, something he rarely took the time to admire. He tried to remember the night before, but it was confusing. There wasn't much that the human brain, basically made for recalling images and sound, could fathom. Most of what he remembered was smell, but most of the smells were unfamiliar, too intense or too strange for his sight-based brain to understand and put to something known.

He remembered the cat, and the ghost. It didn't look like an ordinary ghost in his memory, but Sam said that it had been poor old Degusto's image, just like the picture Alyssa had shown them. For him, though, it'd looked… off. Like a solid mass of smoke, no real features visible, and it had smelled… weird. Sure, he and Sam knew the scent of ozone as a hint for ghostly presence, but it hadn't been just ozone.

He couldn't grasp what it was, though, and he didn't care enough to wreck his brain over it and destroy the relaxing mood he was in.

Sam was sitting on a big rock right at the lakefront, had taken off his shoes and let his bare feet dangle into the cool, fresh-smelling water. He looked across the shiny surface, either deep in thought or really entranced by the dragonflies that were dancing over the gentle waves.

Wow, this really was the chick-flickiest moment in their recent lives.

"Dean…"

And of course Sam 'I'm gloomy' Winchester had to destroy it. "Yeah?"

"If this doesn't work…"

"It will"

"And if not?"

Dean scratched his neck. 'What if's' were a tricky subject and he'd really had enough of them for more than one life. "If it doesn't work, we'll figure something out"

"But Dean…"

"Sam. It'll either work or it won't. If it doesn't… well. I guess you have to buy me a doggy bed then. And invest in a better cooler for the food" he tried to joke, and weirdly enough, he wasn't really concerned. He didn't want to die, of course not, and he didn't really want to stay a wolf, not exactly thrilled by the concept of wearing a collar every months. But if he had to? There were worse fates, as he and Sam had already discovered. He'd just make sure he would be one of the werewolves that didn't get mad, easy as that.

"That's not even a little funny, Dean" Sam didn't meet his eyes and Dean sighed. Of course Sam wouldn't see it that way.

"Look. I'm sure this will work. And I get that you're nervous", not just about the outcome but about the ritual itself, he was pretty sure about that. And yeah, he kinda was too, he had to admit "but if we have to work something else out, we will. We've done so much shit and against so big odds these past years. We'll find a way to either break the curse, infection, whatever, or we'll find a way to deal with it. That's all we can do, but if someone can, I'm pretty sure we're it"

Sam turned now, staring at him with those puppy-eyes. Really, how can a big-ass berserker like Sam still look like a little puppy?

"Wow, Dean. That was really deep. Come here, let's cuddle and watch the beautiful nature until sunset" he deadpanned and got shoved in response so that he lost his balance and had to step into the water, chuckling despite the soggy pant-legs he got from that.

"Yeah right, jerk. As if you weren't totally emo-ing on your mermaid's rock there" Dean joined in the laughter. Living was easy, he'd once believed, and only dying the thing to be feared. When that'd changed Dean had no clue, but he was pretty sure him becoming a werewolf had changed it back again.

For the first time in a lot of years, he wasn't afraid of the next day anymore, nothing weighing him down. Sam was there, he was alive and he was happy and Dean was too. So why get all gloomy over a future that wasn't even written yet? Had the last years not shown them that they always had a choice? So why worry.

With their bouquet of wildflowers, they looked like lovers coming back from a romantic hideaway, but since there wasn't anyone else out in the area, Dean didn't give a damn. He knew the flowers were powerful magic, Sam knew that and nobody else better say anything about them looking anything but bad-ass hunters on a mission.

The way back to the house was light and fun and full of banter and Dean was sorry that it only lasted for twenty minutes.

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

_a/n:  
It gets a bit bloody here. Poor Dean..._

* * *

The big oak split the moonlight into tiny white dots on the grass, made it glitter in the soft breeze that chilled Sam a little and Dean a lot more. The camping-lantern, finally useful after years in the Impala's trunk, bought on a whim one day in case they'd go camping sometime, added a golden shine to the cold white light of the nearly full moon and made the dewdrops sparkle.

_"Excuse me? You want me to lie naked in the grass and let my brother cut into me? That's…" Dean'd scratched his neck "… even kinkier than the collar. Didn't know you'd swing that way"_

"Shut up, man. It's not like I wanna get that close to your ass on any given day. Seeing it is usually enough, thank you."

"Aww, admit it, Sammy. You like my sweet ass"

"… Do you really want me to answer that in any way?"  


The intricate design of the circle had been drawn on the grass in the evening, before sunset so that Sam could see clearly. It was curlicued at the east, west, north and south, straight in between and had been a bitch to do right, especially in the size they needed for the ritual. But he'd been able to trial-paint it before using the blowtorch to burn the stalks to deep black, so that was something.

He didn't have that luxury now.

_"The goal of this ritual is to seal the wolf inside the man, to make them one, to fuse the two sides into one human shell. I guess in theory, it'd be possible to do it the same way with the wolf, seal the human inside, but then again, there is no sane wolf who'd let somebody cut him like that."_

Dean, underneath him, was panting now. Apparently the pain was getting to him again, or maybe he was flashing back to some other place that was a lot less cool than the grass that was tickling his skin. The blood on his back was like a coat of crimson paint, shining weirdly in the strange light. It looked beautiful, in a very, very gruesome way and Sam had to wipe it away with his left thumb so he could see where the scalpel was supposed to be cutting next.

_"From the moment you enter the circle, the only sounds you're allowed to make is the chanting, Sam" Alyssa had told them "Dean can't make any noise at all. Do not, under any circumstance, take the scalpel off the skin after you made the first cut. It'll be all for nothing if you do. You'll have to finish it before midnight, but start it when the sun is set and it's actual night. It's gotta be done under an oak – good thing I have an ancient one out back – and there can't be any observers present."_

His arm and wrist ached. He'd been drawing circles and strange symbols for hours, it seemed, though Sam was sure it hadn't really been that long. He couldn't stop chanting, even though his throat was parched and he couldn't do more than whisper, painfully forcing the strange vowels and guttural consonants over his tongue.

The body under Sam tensed, went rigid and for a split second, Sam wondered what and why his canvas was moving at all. He remembered quickly - _brother, friend, partner, comrade-in-arms_ - and let his left, unoccupied hand stroke over the sweaty and bloody skin, careful not to touch the already drawn design. He couldn't make a sound other than the words that were ripping the skin in his throat, but he still tried to convey that he was there, was still Sam, wouldn't hurt Dean. Not much longer anyway.

_"I can handle it, Sam, stop fussing"_

"Dude, I'm gonna have to sit on you and cut into your skin" If Sam was honest, it freaked him out to do that but he knew he could handle it. He didn't like it very much, didn't like that he had way less of a problem doing something like that than he'd have had a few years back, but right now, this was what needed to be done and if the last fucked-up years had done something good, it was that they'd both gotten very good at handling necessities. Just…he was still Sam and he still felt the desire to acknowledge stuff that bothered him, hated quite a bit that Dean was still refusing to do so with every breath he took. Like it'd make him weak or something. "Don't tell me that it's gonna be as easy as a walk in the park, Dean. I know it won't"

"If you know, why are you askin'?"

"Because…" Sam'd snorted in exasperation "because if you can't handle it anymore, we need to deal with that. Once we start, there'll be no stopping and we can't do it again. If we don't want this to fail, we need to make sure you and I can work it out"

Dean'd muttered something, scowling, but had finally submitted. "Fine. I'm not sure, but… uh, whatever … when I'm starting to freak out, just… just let me know you're you. Right?"

"How?"

"… well…"

"I'm not allowed to speak, not even to shut you up or calm you."

"Oh c'm on. There has to be a way. Just… touch me, or pinch me or something. Get me out of that mindset. I can pick up from there."

Dean shuddered from the soft touch, and Sam wasn't sure if that was a good sign. It didn't really feel like it, so he crooked his fingers and pinched him, soothing the spot right after. The tension left his brother in a gust of air and Sam could feel his own body sink down a little which made him aware of exactly how high-strung Dean had been.

He moved a bit, wiggled lower on the thighs he had his butt on so he could carve along the spine. First on the left side, a straight line down towards the pelvis, interrupted now and then by a twirly, leafy adornment.

_"What? You're gonna cut my butt?"_

"No, he's not gonna cut your butt, Dean. He's got to follow your pelvis-bone and move the scalpel to the legs, sparing the actual butt. Don't ask me why, it seems weird, but it's the way it's done"

"I can't believe the thing that worries you most is your ass. Or, well, now that I think about it, it's not that surprising"

"Shut up, Sam, and learn your song."

He'd have to get down to the sole, back up the leg and hip to cross over the spine to the right side, just where the gluteal muscle met the actual back. And from there, the whole procedure would be repeated on the right side and leg.

His brother was, like him, basically all muscle and bone. There wasn't much between skin and pelvis and Sam tried to keep the cut shallow, he really did. From the flinch and hitched breath, though, he figured that he must've gone a little deeper than he'd planned. It had felt a little like bone under his scalpel, if he was honest.

Without stopping the chant, without taking the blade away from the skin, he carried on. His left hand, though, was conveying comforting strokes against Dean's lower rips before it was again needed to wipe away the blood from his carnage.

Sam didn't know how long they'd been here already, was just glad that it was only the calf and foot-sole now – and of course the other leg. He was soaked in sweat and every now and then, he had to wipe over his face to stop the drops from falling either in his eyes, making his vision blur, or on Dean's skin where it possibly interfered with the ritual. He didn't care if he looked like a butcher, the only thing he cared about was finish torturing his brother and complete the ritual – preferably with success.

Suppressing a groan, he moved his stiff legs into a crouch, swinging his right leg over so he was now squatting next to Dean. He needed access to the leg and couldn't perch on his brother's body anymore. A shudder caught him unaware and nearly made his cuts waver. He caught himself just in time, though, and continued, now aware of the uncomfortable cold from the night that was surrounding them. He was only wearing a thin t-shirt, hadn't wanted to possibly ruin the designs on Dean's skin with a misplaced shirtsleeve, but it was still a lot more than Dean was wearing, so he didn't even think about complaining. They'd be glad to only catch a cold from the fucked-up shit they were doing here anyway.

He was at the foot now, needed to scar the skin under it, the thick calluses as well as the fine, thin skin under the span.

_"So that means I have to wash my feet?"_

"The soles of the feet are very sensitive. Sam has to be really careful with them so as not to leave any lasting damage. Absolutely, under no circumstance can you move your foot or jerk away, even though it's said to be… really painful"

"You don't need to tell me, Lady" Dean had grumbled "I can handle that. 'S not that I don't know what to expect"  


Still chanting, he took the foot in his hand and set it on his thigh to have better access. It was weird, he'd never had Dean's foot under such close scrutiny, not even when he would twist his ankle, an occurrence that was sadly common since Dean'd torn his ligaments when he was seventeen – and then again, right after they'd finally healed. Still, Sam usually iced the foot so he didn't really see the underside of it, and he smiled a bit when he realized that his brother had indeed washed his feet earlier.

The heel was spared from cutting, instead Sam had to carve along the side where the skin was soft and thin, which made it easier and at the same time harder to work. Easier, because he didn't need to put much pressure on the blade to cut the skin, harder because he had to be really careful so he wouldn't accidentally carve too deep. Dean had been pliant while he worked but when Sam reached the soft part under the span, he tensed again, breath stuttering.

It was hard for Sam to continue, knowing that he was really hurting his brother now and his chant wavered a little. He felt the sharp sting of approaching tears in his nose and took a deep breath, suppressing any emotion that might start to overwhelm him. He'd have time for freaking out later.

Tightening his grip on the foot, he cut on and finished soon enough so he could work his way up the calf once more and work on finishing the design on the other leg. He ignored Dean sagging in relief when he went back to the leg instead of the sole, put it behind a thick door to be dealt with later, maybe together with the image of Alistair cutting up his brother's feet in Hell that had shoved itself in his mind earlier this evening.

Just as he crossed over the spine to do the right leg, his cell-phone, placed outside the circle, lit up in silent alarm.

_"Whatcha set the alarm on?"_

"Hour before midnight"

"Good, so I'll set mine … thirty minutes ok?"

"Should do. We'll probably be finished long before that."

"Yeah, maybe. Then again, three hours can pass really fast when you're concentrating, so … better be prepared to hurry up a little when the cell lights up."

"How'm I supposed to hurry, Dean? The design's pretty intricate and has to be done exactly right"

"I know. So if you can't hurry the design, you can hurry the execution. Just cut faster, 's all I'm saying"

Dean had left him standing speechless, shuddering from the mere possibility of that and the firm resolve to damn well be finished before it came to that.

There was no need to get careless, Sam decided. He'd needed two hours for the whole upper body and one leg; he'd be able to do the last one in thirty minutes, easy. He just had to make sure to leave room for putting on the paste before midnight. He could do that, no problem.

Still, he started to cut a little faster now.

Exactly in time with the second alarm, Sam finished the other leg. He'd studiously ignored the growing tension in his brother and hurried as much as he'd dared, and now there was only one thing left to do before the ritual was finished.

With a shaking hand, he reached for the pot of weird-smelling paste and settled next to Dean again. One little pinch, just in case, was all the reassurance he could afford before he set the pot next to his knee, on his right side.

His fingers, bent for so long around the scalpel, were stiff and wouldn't let go of the sharp blade. Sam had to pry them open with his left before he could take a handful of the reddish, muddy potion and rub it in his palms. It had a pleasant temperature and though it looked dark brown with a red tint and though it smelled like some weird, spicy tea, it wasn't unpleasant. Taking a deep breath, he held his muddy palms over Dean's shoulders, hovering there for a second.

_"So what's this pasty stuff for anyway?"_

"The instructions say that while the scars will make some of the wolf-essence bleed out, the paste is meant to seal the rest of it inside. I guess it's supposed to close the cuts and make sure that along with the wolf, the human part can't bleed away or something; sadly the translation didn't go into detail there."

"So I put it on the cuts after I cut this … design in him?"

"Cool, massage"

"Dean!"

"What?"

"This is serious, important!"

"I know, Sam. So what, I'm not allowed to make the best of the situation?"

"The best of… Dean…"

"What?"

"Just… shut up and listen, can you do that? Please?"

"Fine"

"Fine"

"Fine"

"DEAN!"

Dean didn't make a sound, which was pretty impressive considering his body was practically screaming at the top of its lungs, so tense Sam feared he was gonna snap any second. He nearly stopped but the internal countdown had already begun and he couldn't, wasn't allowed to, no matter how much he wanted.

With shaky whispering, he kept chanting while his hands massaged the smelly paste over the cuts he's just made, mixing it with the blood from the wound and painting the skin dark brown with a bloody tint. Dean was strung up like a bow, his whole body quivering from the strain and effort it took to keep from running, fighting and screaming bloody murder.

Applying the paste didn't take long, thank God. The smelly substance had to stay on the skin for only a minute and Sam tapped Dean's shoulder the moment he had applied the last of it on his feet so Dean could start counting. They'd discussed that it was better that way so Sam wouldn't lose concentration on the last crucial moments of the chanting. So Dean counted the required thirty seconds.

Fifteen minutes before midnight, the ritual was done. Sam stopped whispering the words that had long ago lost their meaning and Dean sagged, moaning in pain before he curled into himself trying to lessen the sensation on his back. Which obviously didn't work. The skin stretched tight, the cuts that had clotted re-opened and Dean hissed sharply before he rapidly uncurled again, quivering on his stomach in an effort to not do that again.

"Wait" Sam croaked, not sure his words were even understandable they were so low and scratchy. He crawled a few feet away to reach outside the circle for the bucket filled with clear water, taking along a soft washcloth. On his way back, he stifled his own groan of discomfort for his legs had long ago fallen asleep and were now starting to torture him with pins and needles. "Lemme help"

Dean shuddered but stayed still, oddly pliant under Sam's careful ministrations. Soon, the water was tainted red from the blood and excess paste and the design he'd carved into his brother was clearly visible.

"D's it at least look-k-k cool?"

Sam stared at it, following the lines with his eyes. Now that he wasn't so high-strung anymore, he could indeed see the beauty of it. "Yeah, actually. Not too bad"

"Aws'm. Gemme up, 'm c-c-cold"

With a silent curse, Sam struggled to his feet and stamped on the ground a little to get the worst of the tingles from his legs, then reached for the blue bathrobe Alyssa had given them for this occasion. No matter how tough Dean was, there was no way he could wear clothes that sat directly on his back. Even donning the robe forced a groan of discomfort from him. Sam helped his brother onto his knees and let him catch his breath for a moment when he'd dropped forward and caught himself on his hands. Anytime else, Sam'd have been able to see the funny side of this situation, Dean naked – except for the robe – and on his hands and knees after a little bloodplay, but right now he couldn't smile about it.

After a few minutes, his brother held out one of his arms to let Sam pull him up. He did, even though he knew setting his feet on the ground would be torture. Dean surprised him with actually managing three steps on his bloodied feet, arm slung over Sam's shoulder, before his eyes rolled up and he sagged into himself, caught by Sam who gently let him down on his stomach.

When Alyssa came outside hurriedly, probably having watched them through her kitchen-window since it had turned midnight, Sam was sitting next to his brother, cradling his head on his thigh and staring into nothing. His throat was dry as a desert's dune and his eyes were gritty from suppressed tears. He wasn't sure if it was emotion or pure exhaustion, or maybe a little bit of both that had led him so close to his breaking-point, but he wasn't up to much on his own accord.

"Sam, c'mon, let's get him inside and get him warmed up. You too. I'd hate to call Bobby and explain to him why his boys are popsicles now" she joked, but it sounded tinny and forced. Still, it worked a hell of a lot better than any soothing and calming she might have used and very distantly, Sam thought she'd have been a pretty good companion for Bobby.

Groaning, he rose and after her prompting grabbed Dean underneath his armpits and grabbed his brother's arms over cross so he could carry him with as little strain to his mutilated back as possible. Alyssa took Dean's calves, nearly as careful and together they carried Dean inside, placed him on the Professor's own bed on the ground-floor that she'd set for that purpose in clean sheets. Sam was grateful that he didn't have to do anything but fall flat on his back next to Dean, happy that Alyssa still had the king-sized bed from her marriage so there'd be no accidental jostling and aggravating the injury on his brother.

He wanted to help, but the Professor insisted he'd be more useful if he rested up, so Sam just watched her checking over Dean's wounds, tutting only a few times where he apparently had cut a little too deep. She applied disinfectant which made Dean jerk a little but didn't wake him, and when she smiled at Sam and assured him everything looked well, he fell asleep at once. And if he clamped his hand on Dean's wrist, nobody would ever know. 


	16. Epilogue

The week of the wolf, as Dean secretly called it because it sounded way cooler than "week of werewolf-infection" was over. He'd not turned again, which was really promising, but he'd felt a weird, twitching pain in his joints the last night, when the full moon had risen to its peak at midnight. He hadn't told Sam, but had spoken to the Professor, who had looked for some more texts on that subject. She hadn't found any, as was expected. After all, if there was a cure to becoming a werewolf that was foolproof, more hunters would've known about it. Old Asshole Campbell would've known about it, at the least, and Bobby'd looked there the moment they knew about it.

What Alyssa had uncovered, though, was a tiny asterisk in the journal that housed the cure, a little note saying that the cure would, if done right, definitely stop the current cycle of shape-shifting, but it wasn't a given that it'd be permanent. They could only be sure when Dean hadn't turned the following months, but that was still a long time away.

It was weird, Dean thought. He was pretty cool about the idea of staying a shape-shifting wolf, not freaking out at all like he'd silently done the first weeks after the infection. For some strange reason, he didn't mind the possibility of becoming a monster – or, well, staying one. Sam might've thought differently, but they hadn't talked about it yet, and if Dean had any say, they wouldn't do it at all before the next cycle started. If it ever came to that.

He and Sam were in Idaho, somewhere between one small town and another even smaller one, on their way to a haunted mansion. Or maybe a farm-house, Dean hadn't paid that much attention to Sam's words. He'd noted the location, the words 'possibly the ghost of their grandfather' and had blocked out the rest in favor of feeling the sun warming his closed eyelids. They'd sat in a picnic-area, Sam reading a newspaper from the trash – he'd been desperate to read something different from small scribbles in near-unrecognizable handwriting or ancient chants, he'd admitted – while Dean had tried to listen to the birds and insects that were crawling all over the place.

He'd had no problem hearing the birds, but it'd pained him that the small, six-legged creatures weren't audible to him anymore. It'd still smelled like life all around him, though, so he hadn't been feeling as sense-amputated as he probably would be in a few days.

How odd, he'd thought, that you could miss something that had only been present for a few days.

Now, in the car next to Sam who was driving, Dean still had to stifle the urge to curl up in a ball and huff in contentment or open the window and let the wind blow through his hair and sniff the scents that would drift in. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, not Sam or Alyssa or Bobby who'd called three times already, making up bull-shit excuses to check on them. First time had been shortly after the night under the big oak, but Dean hadn't talked much with their old friend then, since he'd been drifting in and out of a pain-filled haze, trying to get a hang of where he was and who was sitting next to him.

It'd been nerve-wracking. During the ritual, he'd managed pretty well to stay in the present time, maybe due to Sam's voice that'd been keeping him tethered or maybe because it'd been way too cold to be Hell. The cutting itself, while definitely not pleasant, hadn't been too bad. He hadn't been kidding when he said he'd had worse and Sam'd been really careful. But the nights that followed, while he'd burned in fever from the paste on his back, he'd been flashing back and forth into his own Hell, with the knife or under it, one dream shifting into the other. He didn't have a clear memory, but Sam'd looked incredibly haunted when he'd finally woken for real so it was safe to assume that his dreams hadn't been quiet.

At present, 'bout a week later, Dean felt fine. His back was still twitching when he made a wrong move and he didn't mind the cushions at his back even though he bitched about them every time he could, just so Sam wouldn't think he'd gone soft or anything. But apart from that, he was feeling awesome. Better, in fact, than he should be, and neither he nor Sam knew if it came from the paste or from some residual fast-healing-ability that the werewolf had possessed. He didn't limp anymore, and the cuts had healed up mostly, leaving thin, henna-colored scars all over his skin. They looked a bit weird, like some strange tribal tattoos, but if he was honest, they also looked pretty cool and he couldn't wait to show them to the next pretty girl he could find. He was sure it'd feel incredible if she would lick and trace the design with her fingertips…

"Are you panting?" Sam interrupted his pleasant daydream.

"What? No.'course not. Why'd I do that?"

Sam only grinned, gaze straight ahead on the endless-seeming road in front of them. He looked good, Dean thought, relaxed.

So what if they were two fucked-up guys in an old car, scattered scars all over their body and mind? They were still brothers, still doing the right thing. Still saving people, hunting things and if these days they could actually find the odd grey hair whenever they forgot to shave, it was only to be expected, considering the life they led.

Dean was ok with that, more so than he'd been recently. All he'd done, all he'd let happened. All that he'd not stopped and all they had lost was still there, still sitting somewhere in the corners of his maze-like brain and just waiting to ambush him the moment he least expected it. He knew that, and he also knew that some things would never vanish, would forever taint his soul.

But he could look at it now, remember it and look forward again. He could stop living in the past and rehashing his mistakes over and over and over, like he'd done before. He felt like his mind had for some reason come unstuck and would run smoothly from now on.

He hoped it'd stay that way, no matter how many fucked-up situations they still had to encounter.

"How about we stop next town, get a bite to eat. I'm sure they have something with onions"

"Hell yeah, Sam. I'm starving and there can never be too many onions on your food."

Sam laughed and nodded "Yeah, but there is a limit to what this car can manage, not to mention my nose. How about you stick with one helping, and forgo the second one?"

"Aw man, you're no fun"

"I like to breathe, Dean, now and again"

"Wimp"

Oh yes, the world was pretty ok today, Dean thought. He couldn't change what was, and he didn't know the future. But right now, he could live and set one foot in front of the other. Everything else was out of his hands, but for the first time in quite a while, he didn't mind.

"Fleebag"

"Nerd"

"Really? That's the best you can manage?"

"Not like there is anything worse than being a nerd, so why bother"

No, he didn't mind at all.

~End~

* * *

_That's it, folks. Thank all of you who sticked with me and whose encouragement made me feel so much better, and thank all of those silent readers who didn't toss this out with the garbage yet (assuming there are any).  
I'd be really, really thrilled if, in case you enjoyed this, you leave me a note, because though I'm writing for my own sake, it's still an unbelievable feeling to get reviews._

_Bye, see you next time_

_Marlowe  
_


End file.
